


If I Fall Will You Catch Me

by everydaysoul



Series: Set Me Alight [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Blindfolds, Dom Jensen, Dom/sub, Gags, Impact Play, M/M, Orgasm Control, Post-Orgasm Torture, Sensation Play, Sub Jared
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-05-14 09:21:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5738209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everydaysoul/pseuds/everydaysoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Professional Dominant," the profile reads. "Both in-house and outcall sessions provided. Sessions are charged by the hour, only available on weekends. PM or email for more details and negotiations."</p><p>Jared, adventurous college kid, randomly decides to reward himself with a session with a professional dom, because YOLO and all, right? He thinks it’s going to be a one-time thing and he’ll never see the guy again, but a month later, he walks into his new internship program and finds that Jensen’s going to be his supervisor for the rest of his summer break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

_Professional Dominant_ , the profile reads. _Both in-house and outcall sessions provided. Sessions are charged by the hour, only available on weekends. PM or email for more details and negotiations._

Jared scans through the rest of the page. There’s a long list of kinks and fetishes, some that send a stupid thrill of anticipation through him even if all he’s doing is just checking out the guy’s profile, others that are downright puzzling.

He scrolls back up again. There’s only one photo of Master _Jensen_ , a black and white image of a bare-chested man standing in a shadowed corner, eyes hidden behind an elaborate mask, thumbs of his gloved hands hooked into the waistband of his jeans.

Jared is fairly sure this is the definition of being a social loser, but hey, YOLO and all, right? He’s already been thinking about doing this for a while; living away from home, going to college in a busy city tends to help with the whole experimenting and broadening one’s horizons thing. He even has the money saved up – difficult, but not impossible for a college student with a part-time job who’s smart about expenses.

He’s tried looking at the personal ads, long pages and forums full of people looking for potential partners, more than a few describing in explicit detail what they want in a partner. None of them stood out to him in particular, and besides, he’s not stupid. Not many people are keen to take on a newbie, especially not some college kid who’s maybe just looking for a one-time experience.

Jared finds a few more profiles, all of them promising more or less the same fetishes, but he keeps going back to Master Jensen’s page; even if his rates are slightly higher than the others, there’s just _something_ about him that’s drawing him in.

He makes up his mind, closing all the other tabs and returning to stare at Jensen’s photo one last time, then clicks on the contact form at the bottom of the page.

 

 

 

It had seemed like a good idea a week ago.

Jared apprehensively glances at his watch; he’s ten minutes early.

He and Jensen had emailed back and forth over a few days, formal, impersonal messages discussing his limits, safe words and possible scenes. At one point Jared had boldly added his phone number to the end of one of his emails, throwing caution to the wind - but Jensen hadn’t acknowledged it. But then Jensen had responded with an obscenely descriptive email of what he could do to Jared, and if anything that had effectively dashed any vague disappointment he might had felt.

Today they’re supposed to be meeting up at a Starbucks about half an hour away from his college – Jared hopes it’s sufficiently far away from the campus that the place isn’t going to be full of students who might recognize him.

Sure enough, the place is relatively empty, and Jared chooses a small table near the back, sipping at his drink and staring at his phone to disguise his nerves. He absently flicks through a bunch of old text messages just for the sake of something to do – mostly his roommate, Gen, texting him to say that she’s gone off to the beach with a few girls from her class, a impromptu trip before the hell of reading week starts up.

And then suddenly there’s a gruff voice saying to him, “You must be Jared,” and Jared looks up and he thinks his brain promptly melts into mush in his skull, because Jensen is _hot_.

Jensen’s dressed like an ordinary office worker, long-sleeved button down shirt and tie, neatly pressed pants, and his photo on the website does him absolutely no justice at all. A strange look comes over Jensen’s face, and Jared’s liquefied brain immediately goes through the countless scenarios he’s thought of before coming here – what if Jensen ends up rejecting him because Jared’s too young, what if Jensen just tells him no thanks because Jared’s a newbie who’s not worth his time.     

But instead Jensen says, “I’m sorry we can’t do a proper lunch, I have to rush back to work soon,” pulling out the chair across Jared’s and sitting down.

Oh. Work. Right. Guess Jensen’s not doing the whole professional dom thing full time, which makes sense. Jared gapes blankly at Jensen for a whole second, before pulling himself together and says, stumbling a little over his words, “Oh no, it’s okay, I have to get back to class later anyway.”

“You’re not underage, are you?” Jensen says, but he’s smiling, and Jared relaxes marginally.

“No,” Jared says. “I’m twenty - I can show you my driver’s license if you want,” he adds, just to be sure that Jensen isn't joking after all, but Jensen just waves him off dismissively.

“I trust you,” Jensen says easily. He leans back in his chair, a perfect picture of casual, distinguished confidence, his startlingly green eyes narrowing as he runs his gaze all over Jared. And then he smiles again.

It's hard not to feel self-conscious as Jensen goes over what they’d already discussed – they’ll be doing a one-hour in-house session, a private room in some fetish club that’s nearby but Jared’s never even heard of, Jensen’s going to start off slow, and if Jared can handle it, he’ll go harder on him, and then outlines his rules for Jared.

No drinking the day they’re going to scene, he’s supposed to have a light meal before the session, and Jensen’s going to be checking in on him for up to a week after. 

"Okay," Jared says. He'd honestly expected Jensen to be more strict.

He cautiously glances around. Jensen’s voice is low and deep, and the tables around them are unoccupied, so thankfully it doesn’t seem like anyone’s overheard any part of their conversation.

“And oh, one more thing,” Jensen says. “I don’t do sex.”

Jared feels his heart drop into his stomach. “Huh?” he says, suddenly feeling stupid.

Jensen laughs fondly at him, and for the first time, Jared dares to hope that maybe Jensen does actually like him after all. That maybe Jensen doesn't just think of him as a young kid with not enough sense and too much money.

“I don’t _generally_ do sex,” Jensen amends. “It’s completely possible to carry out entire BDSM scenes without sex, but I _do_ sometimes do it with long-term clients. I’ll be wearing gloves, and I will masturbate you if the scene calls for it, or use dildos on you. But no sex or kissing, especially not on the first scene.”

“Oh,” Jared says lamely. He tries not to look too upset, then feels a slight pang of regret when he realizes that he has just enough money saved up to blow on a single session, which means that he’ll never reach the point where Jensen will ever fuck him. But Jensen fucking him with a dildo – Jared discovers that his cock is perfectly happy with the idea, and he’s incredibly grateful that his jeans are thick enough to hide his hard-on.

Jensen  _smirks_ at him, like he’s completely aware how the back of Jared’s neck is heating up in embarrassment.

“So,” Jensen says, his grin sharp. “Now that we’re done discussing the important stuff… I have about fifteen more minutes before I have to get back, let’s talk about something else. What are you studying?”

Jared’s momentarily thrown off track by the sudden change in topic. “Uh, Business,” he says. “I’m in my second year now.”

Jensen’s really easy to talk to, Jared discovers, despite the age gap. Jensen asks him questions, lets him talk about himself and his family, college, and Jared finds himself relaxing. He’s almost a little sorry when Jensen has to go.

Jensen just smirks knowingly at him. “I’ll see you this weekend,” he says, and then suddenly he bends down, so close to Jared that he can feel the heat of his body, “Don’t sulk, _boy_ ,” he says, his voice authoritative now and Jared tenses up, rigid. “I’ll make it up to you on Saturday.”

Jensen straightens up, grinning. “And no jacking off until then,” he adds.

“Shit,” Jared mumbles to himself as Jensen leaves. He slinks down in his chair, breathing hard and trying to will his erection to go down.

Four more days to Saturday.

 

 

 

Jared keeps himself occupied until the weekend; lectures in the morning, camping out in the library in the afternoons, his part-time pizza delivery job at night, like if he’s busy enough, he can somehow keep himself from jacking off. It’s not like Jensen will know, but Jared’s been given an order, and he’s going to obey it no matter what.

The club’s in a part of the city that he’s never been to before, but Jensen’s directions are detailed enough that he has no problems finding it. It looks like an ordinary club, a plain, nondescript black building, the front entrance covered in shutters painted a dark, blood red. There’s a small sign by the door listing the opening hours, but otherwise there's no other sign to indicate it might be playing host to anything fetish.

Jared walks around to the back. There’s a short flight of steps leading up to a narrow door.

Jensen’s already waiting for him. Jared shivers when he sees that Jensen’s already dressed for the part; tight black jeans tucked into glossy leather boots, simple black wrist cuffs with shining steel buckles. He barely notices when Jensen nods to the bored-looking girl at the counter, focused entirely on the feel of Jensen’s firm hand on his back, the smell of him, cologne and leather and cinnamon.

Jensen’s shorter than him – most people are – but Jared somehow feels extremely small next to him. Jensen’s presense is solid, overpowering and towering over him.

They go up more stairs, down one dimly-lit hallway, then another. Jared has a brief, hazy moment of wondering how big the place really is and then suddenly Jensen stops in front of a plain, unmarked door.

“Before we start,” Jensen says, his voice soft and gentle, “Standard verbal safewords: red, yellow and green. Non-verbal, you shake your head fast, as many times as you can. The session ends in an hour from now.”

Then he steps aside, his face hardening, lips a thin, unforgiving line. He pulls out a black blindfold, moves around Jared to put it on him.

Jared feels surprisingly calm as his world goes black, not even a silver of light escaping under the thick strip of cloth around his eyes. He exhales, feeling his body relax, the tension flowing out of his muscles.

There’s a soft creak as the door swings open. Then he hears Jensen’s voice again, low and powerful and smooth.

“Take exactly three steps in, strip, and kneel with your arms behind your back. You have thirty seconds.”

 

 

 

Jared’s just barely managed to awkwardly fold himself down onto his knees when there’s a hand in his hair, tugging his head up and back. His first instinct is to struggle, to fight back, but then he remembers that it’s just Jensen, and he _trusts_ Jensen.

“Good boy,” Jensen says, and Jared feels his insides go warm at the praise.

A boot nudges in between his knees, and Jared adjusts himself, spreading his legs apart. Jared sways a little as he tries to balance himself, but he concentrates on Jensen’s fingers twisted in his hair, grounds himself in the tight, harsh grip.

Jensen moves around him, adjusts his arms, crossing them behind his back, right hand gripping his left elbow, left hand gripping the right.

“Don’t move,” Jensen says. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes Sir,” Jared breathes.

Jensen disappears from his side. Jared strains to listen for his footsteps, nearly turns his head to follow the soft vibrations as Jensen walks in a wide circle around him, but remembers his orders. _Don’t move_.

And then there’s a finger against his lips. “Color?” Jensen says.

“Green,” Jared says. And then, again, “Green,” when Jensen brings something solid and round to his mouth.

The ball gag snugly presses down on the tip of his tongue just imperceptibly on the side of uncomfortable, forces his mouth open. Jensen fits the straps around his head, buckling it in place. Already Jared can feel his saliva pooling around the intruding silicone ball, but he doesn’t dare to try swallow.

Jensen steps away again. For a long, long time, Jared’s left alone to his thoughts, the feel of his heart thundering erratically against the inside of his ribs. Blinded, all his other senses are flaring to life, and the beginnings of an ache start to creep up through his thighs from the effort of keeping still.

More footsteps. A tiny sound of something shifting, like Jensen’s moving things around, picking things up and setting them down again.

Silence again. Jared’s almost tempted to move, to disobey Jensen’s instructions. To test if Jensen will punish him. He _wants_ Jensen to punish him-

Something cracks through the air and his ass erupts in a white, stinging pain.

“I told you not to move, Jared,” Jensen says quietly, and Jared gasps, realizing that he’s fallen to his hands and knees from the shock. He shakily rights himself, folds his arms behind his back again.  

Jensen makes a sound of approval. “Good boy,” he says, and hits Jared again.

Jared scrunches his eyes shut behind the blindfold, breathing heavily around the gag in his mouth. Jensen is relentless, the flogger expertly searing hot bursts of agony over his ass and thighs. There’s a short pause, the sound of Jensen pacing back and forth behind him, and then one final, heavy blow, marking his ass with a long line of bright, vicious pain, and Jared howls.

His tongue works uselessly against the gag, drool dripping down the corners of his lips. Jared faintly registers a warm touch on his shoulder, and it’s a long moment before he realizes that it’s Jensen’s hand.  

“How are you feeling?” Jensen asks quietly.

_Yes_. Jared moans through the gag, then remembering Jensen’s instructions, he nods jerkily, twice.     

Another pause. Jensen’s moving about again, and Jared gulps in a wet, shuddering breath, tries to hold himself together for Jensen, presses his arms tighter against himself, feeling his crossed grip on his elbows slip under his sweaty hands.    

Jensen returns and now there’s something thin tapping up and down the inside of his thighs. _Tap tap tap_ with light, easy smacks that promise a whole world of pain if Jensen decides that Jared deserves it. The crop goes all the way up to brush at his cock, under his balls – Jared holds his breath, fights down the surge of adrenaline and arousal, and freezes – and back down it goes again, tapping against his other leg.

Then the crop comes singing up, hitting his inner thigh so, so close to his balls, and Jared cries out, straining-

“Hold your position, _boy_ ,” Jensen snarls.

Shit. Jared whimpers, his arms and legs shaking as he supports himself again on his hands and knees. His drool drips to the floor in long, wet strings as he sobs, open-mouthed, and he can’t move, can’t bring himself to straighten up again, and Jensen is going to be so disappointed in him.

“I’m going to give you five seconds,” Jensen growls, “I’m going to count down, and you’re not going to like it if you’re not up by the time I reach one.”

_Fuck_. Jared shivers.

“… Four, Jared,” Jensen’s voice says, sharp and angry and penetrating through the fog of Jared’s mind in a brutal stab. “Three. Two.”

Jared pulls himself up, crosses his arms behind his back again with staggering effort. His thighs ache wonderfully from the strain.

“Good boy,” Jensen says. Then his voice changes again, going back to that soft, tender tone. “Do you want me to go on?”

Jared nods so fast, he thinks he might sprain his neck muscles, and Jensen praises him again.

This time Jensen hits him on the front of his thighs and his arms, the crop striking precise lines across him. Jared thinks he starts screaming, muffled behind the gag, loud gasping noises as Jensen sets fire to his skin, burns his way through his defenses and holds his core in an iron grip of pain. And then he’s drifting, falling through the air-

“Jared, baby? Jared, can you hear me?”

Jared looks up into Jensen’s face. He blinks sluggishly; his blindfold is off, the ball gag gone, and he's lying on the floor, head cradled in Jensen’s lap. Jared clumsily turns his head to the side, his nose bumping into Jensen’s stomach, a firm, solid wall of muscle, and he breathes in deeply, smells the leather and the salty tang of sweat.

He finds himself trying to memorize the smell, the feel of Jensen’s muscular thighs supporting his shoulders, tries to etch it deep into his memories.

He thinks he wants to stay here forever.

“Jared? How are you feeling?”

Jensen cups his cheek, thumbs at the wetness at corners of his eyes. Strange; Jared wasn’t aware he’s crying.

“Green,” Jared says hoarsely, and it’s only when he sees Jensen’s fond smile does he realize that’s not what Jensen asked him for. 

“Can you stand?”

Jared’s legs ache. He doesn’t want to move.

“Yes,” he says, mumbles, as Jensen helps him up. He clings to Jensen, wraps his arm around him and holds on, as Jensen slowly guides him across the room – Jared marvels at how Jensen seems to be supporting his weight so easily, like Jared’s as light as a feather.

It’s a high, curved, padded bench, the middle portion rising in a graceful arch upwards, like a large, horizontal _C_. A slit cuts halfway through it. Jensen lowers him and sets him face down on the bench, and Jared nearly goes hysterical when Jensen pushes his legs apart, methodically adjusts his cock so that it hangs down through the gap.

Jensen catches hold of his ankles, bends his legs back, pushing his heels nearly up to his ass.

“Hold still for me,” Jensen says, still in that soothing, endlessly patient voice.

Jared obeys. Jensen wraps thick leather cuffs around his ankles, draws them tight. They’re comfortable, lined with a soft, cool material – fur? Silk? Jared can’t tell.

“Give me your hands,” Jensen says, and buckles more cuffs around his wrists. Soft clicks, as Jensen locks his cuffs together with short chains, wrist to ankle, trussing him up in a loose, uncomfortable hogtie.   

Jensen steps away. Jared tries to follow his movements, now that he can see, but it pulls at his already-strained shoulders. He winces, lets his head fall back down again.

“Color?” There’s two loud snaps as Jensen pulls on gloves, snapping the elastic cuffs over his wrists.

“Green.” Jared concentrates on breathing, draws air deeply into his lungs, feels the stinging pain still spread over his ass and thighs, surely forming welts by now.

Jared hisses as Jensen begins to massage his ass, suddenly immensely hating the clinical feel of the latex gloves against his skin, dragging dry and painful across the marks left by the flogger. Jensen roughly pulls his ass cheeks apart, exposing his hole.

He shudders when Jensen bends down to blow a puff of air right over the puckered muscle, then jerks against his cuffs, crying out in mild shock as Jensen trickles icy cold lube directly over his hole. He feels his muscles unwillingly contract in a small spasm, the cold a sharp contrast against the rest of his heated skin.

Jensen sounds amused. “Was that too cold for you?”

“No, was good,” Jared says, gasping a little. Jensen’s still holding his ass wide open, his fingers digging unforgivingly into his flesh.

Jensen drips more of the chilled lube over the crack of his ass, rubs it into him until he’s thoroughly slick and wet. He works Jared open easily and swiftly, expertly twisting and curling his fingers, the motions drawing mewling moans out of him. And when he deliberately brushes up against that tender, sensitive spot inside of him, it’s exquisite torture. Jared wriggles weakly, tries to get away, but Jensen easily holds him down single-handedly, a palm flat on his back to push him back down.  

He’s falling again, the world around him slipping away to the presence of Jensen inside him, three fingers now, knuckle-deep inside him, thumb playing at his puffy rim like Jensen wants to fit his whole fist into him. More lube, less cold now, warmed slightly to the temperature of the room, the slick gel dripping down to his balls.

And then Jensen pulls his hand away, replaces his finger with a dildo, the rubber head pressing bluntly against his puffy hole. And he just _holds_ it there, a light, unmoving pressure over the twitching muscle.

Jared whines, tries to rock himself backward, attempts to fuck himself on the fake cock, the humiliation coloring his face red but he’s so desperate that he doesn’t care-

“Did I give you permission to move?” Jensen snaps, and Jared immediately goes limp.

“No, Sir, I’m sorry, please,” Jared says pathetically, “Please fuck me, _please_.”

Jensen is going to _kill_ him.

At long last, Jensen fucks the dildo into him, a slow, torturous slide in. He doesn’t stop until the whole length of it is buried deep into him, stretching him so full that Jared whines again, the unyielding pressure filling him up from the inside. And then again, Jensen fucking _stops moving_ , just holds the dildo in him, like he’s waiting for Jared to protest and beg for more.

Jared clenches his teeth, shivers. Tears of frustration pool at the corner of his eyes, threatening to spill over. He’s wrecked, absolutely ruined, and he hasn’t even come yet.

And then Jensen smacks the base of the dildo, jerking it sharply up against his sensitive insides. Jared yelps, accidentally pulling against his cuffs, and it sends a terrible spasm of pain through his bound arms. He whimpers and forces himself to lie still again.

“I see you’re starting to learn,” Jensen says. His voice is cold, unrelenting.

He taps on the dildo a few more times, cruelly twists it around, but Jared presses his forehead down onto the bench and bites back his groans, refuses to let Jensen win.

Then Jared thinks he must have passed the test, because Jensen suddenly starts up back again, thrusting the dildo in and pulling it back out, fucking him so harshly that it feels like he’s being impaled. Fucks him loose and sloppy, angles it so that he viciously slams against his prostate with each thrust.

His other hand slips down, curls around his cock and strokes. Jensen is merciless, going even faster, driving the silicone cock in and out of him as he smoothly jerks him off, in a punishing rhythm that makes Jared scream and cry, bucking wildly against the onslaught of pleasure.

Jensen rips his orgasm out of him with such intensity that Jared’s entire body goes rigid, his muscles locking up, and he lets out a broken shout that fragments into hoarse, wordless sounds. He’s vaguely aware that Jensen is speaking to him now, murmuring words that don’t seem to make any sense, and then his chains are suddenly gone, and Jensen’s carefully kneading at his arms and legs to get the blood flowing to his limbs again.

Oh. Right. Jensen.

“Jensen,” Jared says, inarticulately. He fumbles, somehow finds the strength to push himself up off the bench. He still has the cuffs on.

“Jared? Are you okay?” Jensen’s immediately there, looking so anxiously at him that Jared wants to laugh. A hand runs through his sweaty hair, brushing it out of his face. Jared settles for breaking out into a wide, goofy smile.

“Hi,” he says.

He nearly leans forward to kiss Jensen then, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lets Jensen pull off his cuffs, wrap a soft bathrobe around him and point him to the bathroom, and the moment’s gone.

 

 

 

“You totally got laid while I was gone.”

“Shut up, Gen.”

Jared pointedly looks away from his roommate. Gen is sitting on the kitchen counter, watching him as he stirs at a small pot of macaroni. She's tanned from her week away at the beach, and her face slightly sunburnt.

(“Your face is a _tomato_ ,” had been the first thing Jared said to her when she got back. This is clearly her way of getting back at him.)

“Yup, you definitely did.” Gen narrows her eyes, observing him shrewdly. “You look happy. You bounce when you think nobody’s watching you.”

“Am I not allowed to look happy?” Jared picks up a bowl of shredded cheese and dumps it all into the pot, which makes Gen frown. “And don’t judge me,” he adds, because he just knows what she’s going to say next.

“I’m not judging you, I’m judging your food,” she says haughtily. “So, who was it? Was it a one night stand, or a more permanent thing? When am I meeting him?”

Jared just rolls his eyes at her, but he does try to make sure that he doesn’t _bounce_ when he retreats to his room with his mac and cheese.

Gen still laughs at him anyway.

 

 

 

_Hi, Jared. How are you doing? Are your bruises healing up properly? Let me know if you need anything._

Jensen checks in on him three times over the next week, as he promised he would. They’re all emails; short, carefully-worded messages, but Jared dutifully replies to each of them, follows Jensen’s cue and keeps his responses neutral. On his third check-in, Jared assures him he’s doing fine, and politely thanks him for everything.

Two weeks later, Jared goes back on Jensen’s web page, and gives him a five-star rating, adding a smiley face when the website prompts him to leave a comment along with his review. He deletes all of Jensen’s emails, clears his web browser history, and resolutely ignores the crushing feeling in his chest as he dully comes to the realization that he’ll probably never see Jensen ever again.

He throws himself back into his college work, quickly loses himself in the tedium of quizzes and group projects. Then there's the upcoming summer break - he's already been accepted into a pretty reputable real estate firm's internship program, and it helps take his mind off things a little.

He tries watching porn; makes sure he's alone, checks the lock on the door, does everything he can but it does nothing for him. The regular, vanilla sex bores him now, the kinkier stuff gets him there halfway, but then Jared thinks of Jensen, his deep, rough voice and his skilled hands working him over, and the kind, dazzling smile when they sat across each other in a stupid café discussing Jared’s favorite music.

“Stupid,  _stupid_ , stupid,” Jared mutters to himself, slamming his laptop shut in frustration. Because he absolutely did _not_ just fall hopelessly in love with the professional dom he hired to whip his ass and then fuck him senseless with a fake dick.

He officially hates his life.

 

 

 

Gen wisely keeps her comments to herself, even if Jared’s sure she’s noticed his sudden sour mood as he mopes around their apartment. She locks herself in her room during her reading week, only emerging to argue with him over how gummy bears are not actual food. And he’s grateful for the distraction when she makes him go out to get more food to restock their kitchen supplies, because apparently other than going to classes and his part-time job, he hasn’t left the apartment for anything else for over a week.

He flicks a gummy bear at her hair and runs out the door before she can retaliate.

Jared buys the biggest box of gummy bears he can find even if he’s starting to get sick of them, just to annoy Gen. But he has to admit that she’s right, as he walks back to their apartment with two large bags of groceries; he just needed to get out for a bit. He’d flirted with the guy manning the checkout counter, and now there’s a receipt with a scribbled name and phone number tucked into his wallet.

He’ll get over Jensen.

 

 

 

… Or not.

Jared stares hopelessly at his reflection in the mirror and grunts in frustration, ripping off his abysmal attempt at tying his tie. The first day of his internship, and Gen had insisted that he at least wear a tie, even if the offer letter just specified a smart casual dress code.

And of course he’s reminded of Jensen, as he tucks in his collar and tugs at his belt, examining himself in the mirror. Jensen, with his stupid dress shirt and tie and perfectly ironed pants, the first time they met for coffee.

In the end Jared stuffs his tie into his bag, and sneaks out the door before Gen can catch him.  

He gets there early, takes the elevator up to the seventh floor to the conference room. There are about fifteen or so new interns already waiting in there – the company’s internship program is apparently fairly large – and Jared awkwardly squeezes himself through the narrow spaces between the rows of chairs to the very back of the room, where there’s a small handwritten note taped to the table that says _Finance Dept._

A few more nervous-looking kids file in. Jared fiddles with his notebook, doodling on the last page, watching the door out of the corner of his eye. Nobody else comes to join him at his section of the table. He’s probably the only intern in Finance this time, and the thought is slightly depressing.

The program coordinator turns up at five minutes past nine, an odd, cheerful man who introduces himself as Mr. Collins and proceeds to gruffly read off names from a folded piece of paper he pulls out of his pocket. Jared answers when his name is called – and yes, he’s the only new intern assigned to the Finance Department.

He draws a sad face in his notebook and quickly flips to the next page to hide it.

Mr. Collins quickly goes over the rules, but it’s nothing that Jared doesn’t already know from the handbook that had come with the letter. But he pretends to pay attention anyway, scribbles a few points here and there in his notebook, doodles a lot more, and valiantly tries very hard not to doodle on the more official-looking papers they're handed midway through the briefway.

Jared unclips the plastic intern ID card attached to his documents and skims through the first few pages for his department floor number and supervisor, a _Mr. J. Ackles_. Huh.

The Finance department is one floor above, so Jared takes the stairs, jogging up, eager to stretch his legs after the too-long briefing in the cramped conference room. He’s already dreading the rest of the program; he’s not exactly looking forward to spending two entire months in an office that might possibly be full of serious, old, musty accountants who will definitely bite his head off for all the smallest mistakes.

Maybe he should have applied for Marketing instead, Jared thinks, remembering that there were at least six kids sitting at the Marketing section of the conference table. One of the guys was pretty cute too, some kid named Osric-

Irritated, Jared pushes at the stairwell door with more force than necessary. The door violently swings open – the spring hinge must be broken - and Jared has about a split second to notice that there’s someone standing _right on the other side of the door holy shit_ before the door hits them.

Fuck. He’s going to get fired, and he’s hasn’t even goddamn _stepped_ into the department yet.

“Shi- I’m so sorry,” Jared says in a panic, and _shit_ , while the person he hit doesn’t look at all like a serious, old, musty accountant, he does seem like someone important. Jacket and tie and perfectly ironed pants, polished leather shoes that are now scuffed on the left heel where the door banged into them.

“No it’s okay, you would think it's common sense to not stand right in front of doors,” says a familiar voice. A voice that just over a month ago was snarling humiliating orders at him while Jared moaned and begged and cried.

“ _Jensen_?” Jared says, before his brain catches up with his mouth. “Oh my god, I meant – I’m so sorry, I didn’t know the door would open like that, I pushed it too hard and-”

Jensen laughs, a happy, cheerful little sound that sounds downright odd yet so bright, to Jared.

“Hi,” Jensen says, then laughs again. “You’re Jared, right? Don’t worry about it, I _knew_ that door was broken but I still stood there anyway, it’s not your fault.”

_Jensen remembers his name_. Jared’s stomach does a flip through his ribcage and dissolves into butterflies.

“Yes, I’m Jared,” he says, almost breathlessly. “I’m… I’m in the summer internship program, I’m just starting today, in Finance,”- Jared completely misses the tiny quirk of Jensen’s lips as he goes on – “I’m supposed to be under Mr. Ackles?”

Jensen grins at him. "And that happens to be me. Hello, Jared. My name is Jensen Ackles, and I'll be your supervisor for the next couple of months."


	2. Chapter 2

 

“Our summer programs are quite light, we mainly use them to select candidates for our longer one-year internship programs,” Jensen says. “It’s just regular data entry, assisting with financial reports and reconciling balance sheets for our monthly financial reports at the most, but of course if we decide you can handle the workload, you get more to do.”

“Um. Okay.” Jared’s starting to feel like the proverbial deer in the headlights, following after Jensen as they navigate through a maze of cubicles. Jensen Ackles. _Master_ Jensen. There’s the same self-assurance and calm, but this Jensen seems quieter somehow. More relaxed, more open with his smiles. It’s disconcerting and comforting all at the same time.

“Here.” Jensen stops at a door, turns to look sheepishly at Jared, rubbing at the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed to admit it, and in that moment, all Jared can think of is _fuck he is_ so _screwed, he’s definitely fallen for Jensen_ – “I have my own office,” Jensen says, going in first and holding the door open for Jared to come in with him.

Jared catches a glimpse of the shiny silver plaque on the door before it swings shut again: it says _J. Ackles, Assistant Chief Financial Officer_ in black, blocky letters _._

So Jensen’s pretty high up on the corporate ladder. Holy shit.

Jared stands inelegantly in the middle of the room, watching as Jensen settles himself behind his desk, turning around in his chair to switch on his computer. Jensen’s office is huge; there’s an entire sofa set, complete with coffee table, even a small pantry counter along one wall.

A few moments pass before Jensen seems to realize that Jared’s still standing.

“You can sit down, Jared,” Jensen says with a chuckle, pointing at the comfy-looking chairs across his desk.

Jared is _so_ out of his depth right now.

“Might have you run a few errands for me too. You know, the typical lackey jobs shafted onto interns,” Jensen says. He’s teasing him now. He leans back in his chair, eyes Jared in amusement. “You look scared.”

“No I’m not-“ Jared starts, before remembering that this is _Jensen_ he’s talking to, and Jared is absolutely sure that Jensen can tell if he lies. He deflates. “I’m still in shock, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Small world we live in.” Jensen drums his fingers against his desk, looking thoughtful now. “Usually Finance gets about five interns for the summer. I’ve never personally dealt with the interns, but since you’re the only one this year, I think I can handle you myself. What do you say? But be warned, I have high standards and expectations, I expect you to consistently meet all of them.”

Jared shivers inwardly. There’s just that faint trace of _Master_ Jensen in those last few lines, something about it that makes Jared want to kneel at his feet and submit to his every command.

“Sure,” Jared says at last, lamely. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” Jensen stands up. “Come, I’ll show you to your desk, get you settled in.”

Jared gets a tiny cubicle right in the corner of the Finance department, a narrow table with a sluggish computer, a swivel chair that creaks ominously when he sits down and turns it in a slow circle. Jared gives Jensen a silly grin as he spins around, and Jensen laughs at him.

He leans to the side, lets Jensen bend forward over his shoulder as he shows Jared how to start up their data entry software, and damn, he smells like rich, velvety leather even now – and digs out a battered instruction manual from the desk drawer.

“Read this, familiarize yourself with our system,” Jensen says. “Report back to me in an hour, I’ll have work for you.”

“Yes Sir,” Jared says, the words automatically slipping out of him. And then his brain catches up and Jared freezes, reflexively shooting a mortified look at Jensen.

Jensen is briefly taken aback, but he recovers quickly, and just goddamn smiles. “Get to work, Jared,” he says, laughing, ruffles the top of Jared’s head like Jared’s being an amusing little boy, before turning to walk back to his office.

Jared waits until Jensen’s a safe distance away, then groans and faceplants onto his desk.

“Help,” Jared mutters. He sighs into the scratched, ink-stained surface of the table, then sits back up.

And it doesn’t get any better; by the end of the day, Jared has to admit that he’s thoroughly, albeit metaphorically, fucked.

He tries to be more careful around Jensen, but all Jensen has to do is smile at him and Jared turns into a clumsy, besotted mess. Jensen shows him how to type up financial reports, how to cross-check the flow of data across charts so complex that Jared has to mark each value he’s checked with small ticks in pencil.

Jensen has no obligation whatsoever to treat him any differently, but there’s no way he’s got nothing better to do than to personally train some temp intern, Jared knows. But he tries not to think too much about it – Jensen’s probably just being nicer to him because they’ve met before, even if it was under highly work-inappropriate circumstances.

Jared snorts wryly to himself at the thought.

He gets a thick file folder of old reports to study, with the instructions to write out his own analyses and forecasts on them, and his mind is a whirl of numbers and percentages when he leaves for the day. He has to walk past Jensen’s office on his way out; Jensen’s standing in the doorway talking to an oddly familiar-looking man, and it takes Jared a long moment to realize that it’s the coordinator who’d been in charge of the briefing for the new interns earlier in the morning.

Jared doesn’t even remember the guy’s name. He’s torn between greeting Jensen or just walking straight ahead, unsure if Jensen might mind him behaving too friendly in front of the other employees – and he’s just about to nod at him in acknowledgement when Jensen calls him over.

“I have a meeting tomorrow morning, at nine,” Jensen says, as Jared approaches. “Can you come in about half an hour earlier? I’ll teach you how to take minutes, I want you to sit in on my meetings with me.”

“This the new kid?” The coordinator guy cuts in, before Jared can respond. He’s half-grinning, half-smirking as he eyes Jared up and down, like he’s sizing him up. “Don’t let Jensen push you around too much,” he says, then laughs to himself.

“ _Misha_ ,” Jensen says, then sighs. “Jared, this is Misha Collins from HR, I suppose you’ve met him already?”

“Um. Yes, I have.” Jared’s not sure what else to say, suddenly self-conscious that both Jensen and Misha are far more senior than he is, and he subconsciously straightens up, his arms awkwardly hanging stiffly by his sides. In the end he settles for looking directly at Jensen and he nods again. “And okay, I’ll come in by eight-thirty tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Jensen says.

Jared recognizes it as an easy dismissal, and he takes the opportunity to flee. As he rounds the corner, he turns back to see Misha casually looping an arm around Jensen’s shoulders and dragging him into his own office, Jensen laughing as Misha gestures about animatedly.

He absolutely refuses to admit that the strange, twisting feeling that suddenly claws at his stomach might be envy.

 

 

 

The goddamn elevator’s broken down again.

Jared yawns as he climbs up the stairs to his apartment, swinging his bag of Chinese takeaway as he goes. He’s suddenly vaguely thankful that he had the foresight to swap shifts at his part-time job; it’s only his first day and he’s _exhausted._ It’s more of a mental drain than anything else, but he’s not keen on working his usual night shifts and having to wake up early the next morning for his internship thing.

Even if going from working weekday nights and full weekends to only on the weekends means that he’s going to take a sizeable pay cut - Jared’s probably going to spend his money on something stupid anyway. Like maybe hiring Jensen again for another session in the club.

He sardonically thinks that even if they haven’t thought to include a clause in the employee handbook that says it’s illegal for Jensen to be spending his weekends tying people up and whipping them until they come their brains out, it’s probably fifty more kinds of inappropriate now that he’s his _supervisor_.

Gen’s not in, even if she’s supposed to be packing to go home for the summer break. Her flight is in two days, which means that soon Jared’s going to have the whole apartment to himself.

It’s going to be quiet.

Jared goes straight to his room and collapses onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

 

 

 

The next morning, he wakes up with a morning wood that’s almost painful. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, just rolls over onto his back, snakes his hand down under the sheets and leisurely strokes himself, slow and lazy. Coaxes a little precome out, catches a large moist bead between two fingers and uses it to lube up his cock as he strokes himself a little faster.

When he feels marginally more awake, he shimmies out of his pants and kicks his blanket out of the way, cracking open one eye to peer down at himself, watching sleepily as his hand curls up and down his cock in deliberate, practiced motions.

He’s had maybe _one_ satisfying fap ever since Jensen happened to him, and that was on the day after the session, while Jared was still riding the high of the endorphins still coursing through his blood. He lets out a small sigh of languid pleasure, focuses on the arousal slowly roiling through him.

And again Jared’s mind drifts back to Jensen, allows himself to build a hazy, stupid fantasy. Of Jensen showing genuine interest in him beyond some college kid interning under him, Jensen kissing him and bending him down over that stupid sofa in his big, stupidly sophisticated office, roughly fucking into him with a hand clapped over his mouth to muffle his moans because they’re supposed to be at _work_. Hissing in his ear, rough and brusque, telling him to _take it like a good boy Jared_ in that voice he seems to default to when he wants things done.

Jared comes with a small shout of surprise, warm come splattering pearly white over his fist and his sheets.

There’s no time to do the laundry now; he yanks the soiled sheets off his bed, bundles it up and shoves it into a corner, and goes to get ready for work.

 

 

 

He feels like an intruder, walking into the dim, empty office so early. It’s only eight-twenty, but there’s already a line of bright light under Jensen’s door. He knocks tentatively, hears Jensen call out to him to come in, and pushes the door open.

Jensen’s behind his desk, typing away on a small laptop. He looks up and smiles.

“Morning,” he says. “Coffee?”

“Morning.” Jared sees a small glass pot of coffee by Jensen’s elbow, an empty, matching cup already sitting on Jared’s side of the table. “Yes please.”

Jensen fills his cup, pushes over a small dish of sugar and creamer packets. “Help yourself,” he says.

And again it feels so natural, sharing a space with just the two of them. Jensen asking him how he’s progressing on his report analyses, laughing at Jared’s face when he accidentally burns his tongue on the hot coffee. Jensen flips his laptop around, shows Jared the precise document format he likes for taking down meeting minutes.

“How fast can you type?” Jensen asks.

Jared thinks. “Pretty fast, I guess,” he says.

Jensen hums approvingly. He holds out a small USB flash drive. “Here, copy the format over to your laptop,” he says. “You can play my secretary for today.”

Jared’s hand brushes against Jensen’s as he accepts the flash drive. Jensen turns back to his computer but doesn’t dismiss him, and Jared brazenly takes it as permission to hang around until they have to go up to the meeting room later. Instead Jensen refills his cup with fresh coffee as Jared pulls out his own laptop and starts it up, and they sit together working in companionable silence until Misha pops in completely unannounced.

“Come on, you workaholics,” he says. “Time to go show off our projects.”

Misha doesn’t even comment on Jared’s presence. Jared hangs back as they walk up together to the elevator, anxiously checks if his laptop battery has enough juice to last at least three more hours. Misha and Jensen are clearly good friends, light-heartedly bickering all the way.

Irrationally, Jared wonders if Misha knows what Jensen does in his spare time.

The meeting goes surprisingly well; Jared sits in the farthest corner, tries not to draw too much attention to himself as he types as fast as he can. A lot of it goes right over his head but he doesn’t even try deciphering it, just types it all down and shrugging ruefully at the amount of irrelevant details he’s probably including in his minutes. He hopes Jensen’s not going to ask to see them right away, at least not before he gets the chance to go through what he’s taken down.

About half an hour in, Jensen stands up, takes over from the head commercial officer. His movements are controlled yet effortless as he points his laser pen across the projector screen, the red dot tracing zigzag lines across his charts, and when he starts to speak, Jared finds himself sitting up straighter in his chair. Jensen is _beautiful_ when he takes control, and Jared nearly forgets that he’s supposed to be transcribing this too.

Jared ducks his head to hide the grin creeping over his face.

 

 

 

It’s exhausting for him to keep up his professional, indifferent façade, but he buries himself in the work Jensen assigns to him, double and triple checks everything until the words and numbers swim nauseatingly on the page. He thinks he’s starting to live for the small, pleased smiles and nods of approval Jensen sends his way whenever Jared completes a delegated task ahead of schedule.

It’s like an addiction, but Jared thinks there are worse things to live for.

“You lucky bastard,” one of the long-term interns, a harried-looking girl with large, tired brown eyes, tells him. They’re standing in a little group in the pantry, them and three other interns from the other departments, whiling away the few minutes they have left of their lunch break before they have to get back to work. “I’ve heard that Mr. Ackles rarely takes on interns, but when he does, he works the hell out of you, _but_ you get to learn loads.”

Jared supposes she’s right.

“But seriously, dude,” one of the guys says. “It’s only Monday and you look like shit, what were you doing all weekend?”

“I have a part-time job,” Jared says with a shrug, because it’s partly true. “I’ve got rent and bills too, you know.”

His phone vibrates in his pocket. They’re not supposed to be on their phones during working hours, but it’s still about a minute before they have to get back to work, so Jared pulls his phone out anyway. He sneaks a look at the screen.

It’s a text message from an unknown number.

_Do you like chocolate donuts?_

What. Jared frowns at the number, tries to remember if he’s given anyone his number recently, or maybe forgotten to enter in a new contact’s number.

His phone buzzes again.

_This is Jensen btw. I’m at this bakery and I hear they have excellent donuts_

For a moment Jared just stares at his phone, confused. It’s so random – what on earth is Jensen doing at a bakery now? – and he doesn’t remember ever personally giving Jensen his number, but… Oh. _Oh_.

Jared vividly remembers him typing out an email to _Master_ Jensen then, hiding behind the security of the internet to ashamedly confess that he gets off on the thought of being tied up and blindfolded and helpless, and then adding in his phone number in the hopes that maybe Jensen might want to continue their negotiations over the phone.

Jared feels himself flush. He hastily excuses himself, mumbles an excuse about having to get back to work, and escapes back to the safety of his cubicle. His hands tremble as he types out a reply.

_Chocolate donuts sound good_

He saves Jensen’s number to his contacts, tries to go back to his balance sheets. But he nearly jumps out of his chair anyway when Jensen suddenly pops up behind him, holding up a translucent peach-colored plastic bag.

“Come on, let’s eat in my room,” he says.

The donuts are _good_ , still warm with powdery white icing sugar on top and a thick bittersweet cocoa filling that oozes all over his fingers when he bites into them. He grins sheepishly around a mouthful of fluffy bread and chocolate cream, his other hand reaching out for the paper napkins tucked in by the box of donuts.

“They’re from this bakery near the old bowling center,” Jensen says. “You know, the one next to the skate park?”

Jared thinks he knows the skate park. “What were you doing there?” He takes another bite of the donut, more carefully this time.

Jensen seems to hesitate before answering. “I was meeting a new client,” he says, pauses, then elaborates lightly, “For the club, their session’s this weekend.”

It’s the first time Jensen’s ever mentioned his work as a professional dominant around Jared. It feels like they’ve been tiptoeing around the elephant in the room, but now that Jensen’s brought it up, Jared doesn’t know how to appropriately react to it.

“Oh,” he says, then suicidally decides that it would be an appropriate conversation topic to expand on. “Do you… do it? A lot?”

Jensen gives him an odd look. He picks up a donut, studies it, then says, “It depends. Sometimes I do up to five sessions a day on the weekends, sometimes it’s just one client for the whole week. My weekday nights are for more personal sessions, exclusively for long-time clients. It sort of balances it out.”

“Oh,” Jared says, again.

Like a rewards system, Jared thinks. Jensen rewards his long-term clients with his weekday nights, a privilege that he’s willing to accord them even when he might be tired out from spending all day in the office. He looks at the box of white-frosted donuts, wonders if this too is some sort of a reward, for him.

Jensen falls silent, and Jared realizes belatedly that he might have overstepped his boundaries this time. He crams the rest of his donut into his mouth, chews as fast as he can and swallows, then snatches up his used paper napkin.

“I should go,” he says to his feet, stupidly.

“Jared?”

“Yeah?” He chances a look at Jensen’s face. Jensen’s face is cautious and carefully blank.

“You understand that I’ll prefer that nobody knows about this, I hope?”

Now Jared feels brilliantly idiotic. Of course Jensen wouldn’t be comfortable discussing this here, for clearly obvious reasons. He should apologize for pushing Jensen to talk about it-  

“I’m sorry,” Jared says. “I won’t do it again.”

He flees back to his desk. He’s so absurdly upset that he screws up his balance sheets so badly, and he has to redo the entire thing from the start.

And even then he somehow manages to get the whole thing wrong.

 

 

 

The floor is moving.

Jared sits and stares as the marbled patterns come to life, dancing about like a ballerina wearing a skirt of fire. Then he frowns – that doesn’t sound quite right. He tries to think up a more suitable description, but it makes his head hurt, so he gives up.

He doesn’t remember the last time he was this drunk.

He’s not sure how many beers he’s gone through, to wash down the dry, foul chemical taste of the cheap vodka he stole from Gen’s stash, but he’s already gone to the toilet twice. He sincerely hopes that he managed to aim all his piss into the bowl, but thinking about it makes his head hurt too.

Jared’s not supposed to be drinking. It’s a Tuesday night, and he still has to get to work early tomorrow morning. Jensen’s expecting him to turn up early, because of… a something. A meeting or an audit, maybe, he doesn’t know anymore.

Speaking of Jensen. Jared pulls his phone out, fights with it until he manages to locate his contacts list. It’s another battle scrolling down what feels like an endless list of names before he finally reaches Jensen’s name. Jensen’s name swims around the screen in tight little circles like an elusive goldfish, and Jared catches it and holds it captive in one corner.

“Gotcha,” he triumphantly tells the goldfish as it squirms beneath his finger.

A sane, suspiciously still-sober part of him tells him that this is going to be a bad idea. Jared takes another gulp of beer to help him make up his mind, the fizz of the alcohol burning its way down his throat.

“Hey, Jensen,” he says, when Jensen finally picks up after the third or fourth ring. “I… Fuck. I’m drunk.”

“Jared? What’s going on?”

“I’m drunk-calling you,” Jared informs him. This totally proves how not drunk he is. “It’s easier than texting. Everything’s _moving_.”

There’s no response for a while, so Jared goes on.

“You didn’t like my thing,” Jared says plaintively. He’s still upset that Jensen told him to redo his latest accounts thing. The grimace of disappointment on Jensen’s face burns behind his eyelids, bright and clear, and Jared thinks he’s allowed to still be upset about it. Especially because it’s his _responsibility_ to not let Jensen down.

It makes perfect sense.

“Jared, you’re not making any sense.”

Did he say all that out loud?

“Fuck you,” Jared says firmly. “I’m not drunk.”

There’s another long pause, then, “Jared, I want you to stop drinking right now, get yourself some water, then go to bed.”

“I’m out of beer,” Jared says. He stops to consider Jensen’s instructions, the words ringing distantly in his ears.

“ _Jared_. Are you listening to me?”

Ah. That’s not Jensen’s voice anymore, that’s the voice of his Master Jensen, strong and authoritative and demanding Jared’s obedience.

“Okay,” Jared whispers, cowed. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

He hangs up.

The walk to the kitchen for water feels like an obstacle course away.

 

 

 

Jared wakes up the next day to the afternoon sun shining warmly on his face, an explosive headache pounding merrily away on the inside of his skull, and three missed calls and two text messages from Jensen that he can’t bring himself to read.

He’s already over three hours late to work. Maybe if he just stops going altogether, Jensen will conveniently fire him and he’ll never have to see him again.

That sounds like a good plan.

Jared rolls over, slides his phone away from him as far as he can so he doesn’t need to see Jensen’s name blinking at him from the phone’s notification bar, and starts vaguely composing a resignation letter in his head.

 

 

 

“Jared.”

“I’ve emailed you my resignation letter,” Jared says blandly. He doesn’t turn around to look at Jensen. He’s just here to collect his stuff from his desk; there’s not much to pack up, just a couple of notebooks and a handful of pens, a few odds and ends.

“Come to my office.”

“No,” Jared says. The word feels strange and alien on his tongue.

Jensen catches his wrist in a tight, bruising grip. Jared winces, tries to pull his hand away, but Jensen’s a lot stronger than he looks.

“That was not a request,” Jensen growls.

Jared lets Jensen lead him back to his room, dread knotting at his insides. Jensen locks the door, shoves him in the direction of the sofa, and Jared stumbles backward, falling down onto the soft cushions with a small grunt.

“Jensen,” Jared starts, but Jensen silences him with a look.

Jensen walks around him, then comes back with a cold bottle of water. He thrusts it into his hands, then sits down opposite him.

“I’m sorry I had to do that,” he says. “I figured it was the only way I could get you to listen.”

Jared plays with the bottle. He swipes a finger through the forming condensation, drawing lines down the clear blue plastic. Doesn’t look up, doesn’t want to see how disappointed Jensen is in him.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, eventually.

“Because it’s my fault.”

Now that gets his attention. “What?”

“You still think of me as your dom, don’t you?” Jensen says, shrewd. “You’ve been going out of your way to impress me, and-” he holds up his hand when Jared tries to interrupt “-and when I corrected your work, you snapped, because I’d never criticized anything you’ve done before.”

“I don’t,” Jared says, then stops, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Tonight,” Jensen says. “Will you be free tonight?”

Jared shrugs feebly. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Come over to my place,” Jensen says. “Let me work with you. You’re drifting and unfocused, and you definitely weren’t this ungrounded the first time I met you.”

Jared’s lips curl thinly. “What do you mean?”

“Another session,” Jensen says. He reaches over, plucks the bottle out of Jared’s hands, uncaps it and hands it back. “Drink that, you don’t look well.”

Jared doesn’t really want to, but he obediently brings the bottle to his mouth anyway, slowly sips at the cool liquid as he thinks of what to say next. He doesn’t know why he’s still letting Jensen order him around, like he’s Jensen’s sub, his _boy_. Suddenly ridiculously angry at himself, he puts the bottle down in defiance.

“I don’t have the money for more sessions,” Jared says.

Jensen raises an eyebrow. “I’m not charging you for this. Consider this positive reinforcement.”

Jared’s anger easily gives way to resigned defeat. Jensen regards him with a quiet, knowing gaze, and Jared’s vulnerable. Naked, exposed.

“And what exactly will this reinforce?” Jared laughs, sullen and bitter.

“A reminder that I can be both your supervisor and your dominant.”

Jared finally looks up at Jensen. “What do you want me to do?”

Jensen glances at his watch. “I’m not accepting your resignation letter, so get back to work for now. I have a few things to wrap up today before I can leave, so I want you to go home, pack clothes for tomorrow, have a light dinner, then come back here by eight.”

Jensen gets up and moves to sit next to Jared. Jared lets him pull him closer, tips his head down as Jensen clamps a hand over the back of his neck, then yanks him down until Jared’s cheek is pressed to Jensen’s chest. Jared closes his eyes, finds solace in the steady rise and fall of Jensen’s chest.

“I’m not letting go until you feel better,” Jensen says.

“Thank you.” Jared keeps his eyes closed, and his breathing slowly evens out.

He wonders if Jensen’s fingers are going to leave bruises, dark flower petals marked into his skin. He hopes they do.

 

 

 

He feels oddly relaxed through the ride back to Jensen’s place, despite the thrum of anticipation that starts up deep in his groin as soon as Jensen starts up the car. The muted noise of the road and the soft, whirring hum of the engine wash over him in peaceful waves, about ten minutes in, Jared finds himself nearly dozing off.

He pulls himself awake, shakes his head a little to clear it from the pleasant fog of calm, and turns sideways to look at Jensen. Jensen’s side profile is fascinatingly stunning, all handsome, chiseled angles and the faint beginning of a stubble shadowed over a strong jaw.

Jensen catches him staring, and Jared hastily turns away.

“Did you eat dinner?” Jensen asks, after a while.

“Yeah,” Jared says, then realizes that Jensen’s waiting for him to go on. “I had a chicken sandwich. And a bottle of tea.”

“Good,” Jensen says, half distractedly, but Jared basks in the praise anyway. It’s like the disaster of the past few days never happened at all. The traffic light ahead turns red, and Jensen slows the car down to a stop, then reaches over to put his hand on Jared’s knee.

Jared’s throat constricts, and he closes his eyes and concentrates on the weight of Jensen’s hand on his knee. Jensen suddenly laughs quietly to himself, and Jared opens his eyes to look at him.

“It’s nothing,” Jensen says, still chuckling. His smile looks a little forced. “Just thinking about how unprofessional it is to do this. Honestly, in your case, it would be better if I referred you to someone else, I know a few people-”

“ _No_ ,” Jared says quickly. It feels strange that he’s the one encouraging Jensen, when it’s usually the other way around. “I want it to be you.” _I want you_ , he doesn’t add.

There’s never been any indication that Jensen considers him more than a protégé, and now – an erratic, lost sub needing guidance. But he’s still not sure what this is, the thing they’ve got going between them, but Jared isn’t going to risk losing it by being his usual foolish, reckless self. He's nearly lost it once already. So he keeps his mouth shut, and leans back in his seat.

He hasn’t felt this at ease for a long, long time.

The light turns green, but Jensen keeps his hand on Jared’s knee, a possessive, gentle pressure that seeps down through his skin.

“Thanks,” Jared blurts out. “For doing this.”

Jensen takes it in stride. “I did tell you – you’re my responsibility. Even if I’m not your lifestyle dom, it’s still my job to watch out for you.”

“Lifestyle dom?”

Jensen pauses as he takes a sharp turn, then says, “Lifestylers. It’s the term we use to refer to ourselves, to separate ourselves from people who occasionally scene for the thrill, or people who do it for sex. You can say it’s like adapting your entire daily life to the dynamic of your dominant-submissive relationship. Although strictly speaking, as a pro dom, I wouldn’t qualify as a lifestyler.”

“Oh.” Jared lets the information sink in. It feels like Jensen’s offering him a glimpse into a complex, intriguing world, and Jared grasps at the chance. “You know a lot about this.”

Jensen laughs. “I’ve been in the scene for years,” he says.

They lapse back into silence for the rest of the drive, Jared turning to look out the window again. Jensen lives all the way across town, a sleek, modern-looking house in a decently upscale neighborhood. Jensen parks out in the driveway, even though he has a garage.

Jared gets out, slings his backpack over his shoulder, and tries not to look around too much as he follows Jensen in. 

 

 

 

Jensen takes his bag from him, tells him to wait in the hallway, and disappears into the darkened house. Jared keeps his eyes trained on the ground, feeling his heartbeat pick up now, a warm coil of arousal starting up in his stomach.

Moments later Jensen reappears, minus his suit jacket and tie, sleeves rolled up his elbows, and it’s _Master_ Jensen standing in front of him again. Jared lets out a breath at the comfort of the familiar sight.

“Sir,” Jared murmurs, something akin to relief rolling over him.

“What are your safewords?”

“Red, yellow, green,” Jared recites dutifully.

“Good boy.” Jensen pauses, and flashes a grin that looks positively predatory with the darkness casting shadows over his face. “The bathroom is down the hall, first door on the left. There’s a laundry basket under the sink. Strip and fold your clothes neatly into the basket, then get into the tub.”

“Yes Sir.” Jared starts to move, but Jensen catches him with a painful grip on his upper arm.

Jensen looks _terrifying_ now. “Crawl.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shorter than what I would like, but hey, porn.
> 
> Question, though. Do I tag the kinks in the fic description as I update, or would that be too spoiler-ish? There's nothing too squicky in this chapter, but um. For future reference.

 

The bathroom is nearly as big as the whole of Jared’s own bedroom.

It’s all achromatic; masculine and simple, understated elegance. A heavy glass shower enclosure in one corner, a huge white ceramic bathtub in another. The counter and shelves are fancy, polished black marble, and it's like a photo from a bathroom design catalog brought to life.

Jared climbs into the empty bathtub. The ceramic is smooth and cool against his skin, and he wonders if he’s allowed to sit. In the end he settles for sitting kneeling awkwardly near one end of the tub.  When he rests his weight down, the bony edges of his knees presses uncomfortably against the hard surface of the inside of the bathtub. 

He feels faintly ridiculous.

Jared stares at the gleaming stainless steel taps as he waits. He can hear the distant, muffled sounds of Jensen moving about outside, walking back and forth. Then a door slams and there's the distinct sound of something heavy being pushed about.

He closes his eyes, counts to twenty, then fifty, then a hundred. Opens his eyes again and strains to listen for Jensen; he wonders if Jensen’s making him wait on purpose.

He shivers slightly.

Jensen comes in way too long later, still in his dress pants and shirt, and carrying a simple wooden stool. Jared looks up just in time to catch a startled look crossing Jensen’s face, and then Jensen breaks into a warm, proud smile.

“You’re amazing, you know,” Jensen tells him in a murmur. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“Nope. You could enlighten me,” Jared says lightly, tongue in cheek.

Jensen raises an eyebrow at him. He calmly sets down the stool next to the tub, then grabs a handful of Jared’s hair. Pulls until he has to tilt his head back, back arching.

“Would you want me to punish you for that comment?”

“I think I would let you do it,” Jared admits.  

ensen releases him. “Punishments aren’t meant to be enjoyable,” he says, kindly chiding. He sits on the edge of the tub. “But I never specified you weren't allowed back talk, so I’m going to let this pass for now. Do you prefer warm or cold water?”

“Um. Cold is fine,” Jared says. He remains kneeling, but turns to watch as Jensen picks out bottles of shampoo and body wash, balancing them on the broad edge of the tub in a neat line. Then Jensen places a pump bottle of lube right next to the shampoo and he has try to hard not to stare. 

“I’m going to bathe you first,” Jensen says. He takes down the shower head from the wall, sits on the stool and pushes Jared down until he’s on his hands and knees. “Don’t move.”

Jared stares at his hands, braces himself for the first blast of water, but it's pleasant and not too cold. He shuts his eyes reflexively and breathes through his mouth as Jensen directs a gentle spray of water over his hair, then down his spine and over the back of his thighs.

“You’re tensing up.”

“Sorry,” Jared mumbles. His knees are starting to hurt.

“Don’t apologize,” Jensen says. He turns off the water, taps the rounded edge of the shower head against the back of Jared’s neck. “Keep your head down – _lower,_ boy.”

It’s not like Jensen hasn’t seen him completely naked before, but this – this is _intimate_. He feels vulnerable, exposed. Yet there’s something loving in the way Jensen lathers up the shampoo into a thick white foam of bubbles, then massages it deep into his scalp.

“Sir?” Jared says.

Jensen immediately stops. “What is it?”

Jared shifts his weight onto his right arm; his left shoulder’s starting to cramp up. “Nothing,” he says, at last. “Sorry.”

There’s a brief silence as Jensen goes back to washing his hair, then Jensen says, “You know, I live alone. Bought this place fully furnished, even came with this huge, ugly fake fur rug in the master bedroom. I’m still considering converting the guest bedroom into a playroom, but I haven’t had the time.”

Jared grins despite himself. “What did you do with the rug?”

“Stuffed it into a packing box and threw it out with the trash. On hindsight, I could have donated it to a homeless shelter, but I was too busy to bother.”

Jared’s tempted to make a joke about rug burn, but instead he says, “I have a roommate, a girl. Her name’s Gen. But she’s gone home for summer, so I have the place to myself for now. You know, the typical college student apartment. Tiny, cramped, and our kitchen is full of junk food. Gen does try to fill the fridge with fruit and vegetables every other week, but I think she might have given up recently.”

Jensen chuckles. “I remember my college years. I lived on campus, but my dorm in particular could get quite chaotic sometimes. We were always getting into trouble with our hall director.”

Jared thinks Jensen must have been one of those cool, popular kids who got along well with everyone else. He can just imagine it. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-four.”

“Wow. You’re young,” Jared blurts out, then winces at how stupid he sounds. “I mean, you’re already the assistant CFO and all.”

“I had connections,” Jensen says wryly, then abruptly changes the topic again. “Do you like animals?”

“Dogs. I like dogs.” Jared had one once, growing up. They had to put her down when Jared was about sixteen; he still misses her even now. “I’ll like to get a puppy, but my apartment doesn’t allow pets.”

“Me too,” Jensen says. “I thought of getting a dog when I moved in here, but I’m always out at work or at the club. It’s not fair to have pets if you aren’t going to be around to spend time with them.”

“Yeah,” Jared says. “I hate it when people do that, especially with dogs. They get dogs just to guard their house, and keep them chained up outdoors the whole time.”

“Dogs are infinitely better creatures than humans will ever be. No matter how you treat them, they’re always loyal and trusting. Kinda hard to find those qualities in any human being.”

“I trust you,” Jared says, quietly.

Jensen pauses. “You’re a good person, Jared,” he says eventually.

“You say it like I’m being naïve, like I shouldn’t trust you.” The realization dawns on him like a heavy fog. “You’re not going to fuck me at all tonight, are you?”

Jensen picks up the shower head and rinses the soap off his hands. “No,” he says finally. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

The disappointment feels like a claw tearing through his insides. “But _why_ ,” Jared says, aware that he sounds like he’s whining now, but he can’t help it.

Jensen hooks a finger under his chin, pulls him up until their eyes meet. “Don’t you ever think that it’s because you’re not good enough for me,” he says. “Jared, you’re beautiful, and I don’t want to ruin you.”

“You won’t ruin me,” Jared says, petulantly.

“You don’t know that,” Jensen says. “ _Trust_ me, Jared.”

Jared draws in a shaky breath. “Okay,” he says.

“Color?”

“Green.”

Jensen turns the water back on, gently rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. Jared holds his breath as the water flows down his face in slow rivulets, and he wonders if Jensen will ever agree to tie him down and choke him.

It’s comforting. The exceedingly tender way Jensen rubs the earthy-scented body wash over his skin in small circles, fingers massaging at the knotted muscles in his shoulders. Jared catches himself nearly yawning a few times, and he has to fight to stay in position.

“Stay awake, boy,” Jensen says, sounding amused, then suddenly reaches down and cups his hand over Jared’s balls.

“Fuck.” Jared curses, jerking forward in surprise.

“Watch your mouth,” Jensen says. He leans forward, rests two soapy fingers against Jared’s lips. “Now. I want you quiet unless I’m asking you a question. I don’t want to hear a sound out of you until I’m done bathing you, or I’m washing your mouth out with soap.”

Jared nods, not daring to speak up this time. But Jensen seems satisfied enough with his response, pulling his fingers away.

The water is colder when Jensen finally stands up to hose him down again. Jared clamps his mouth shut, resolute, and focuses instead on the water swirling down the drain. Then Jensen deliberately directs the water right at his balls and cock, and Jared nearly cries in frustration as he feels himself slowly going hard even under the pain.

“Good boy,” Jensen says, finally. He lets the shower head fall back into the tub with a loud clink. “Reach back with your right hand and spread your ass for me.”

His shoulders have cramped up again, and the pain sings through his numb arm as he moves to obey as fast as he can.

“I can give you an enema if you want,” Jensen says. “What do you say?”

Jared has to work a little to find his voice again. “Would it hurt?”

“Only if you want it to. There are different kinds; some are more relaxing, and there are others designed exclusively to cause pain.”

Jared thinks about it, feeling his hole twitch around nothing. “Not… not today. Maybe some other time.”

“Okay. You can put your hand down now. Are you cold?”

“A little,” Jared confesses.

Jensen steps away and returns with a large dark blue towel. He rubs it through his hair and drapes it over his back, then picks up the lube, pumps a generous dollop onto his fingers. Jared sneaks a glance up at him as Jensen's occupied with slicking his hand up. 

Somehow Jensen’s shirt is dry, and he wonders how many others have been in this exact same position. Kneeling, naked and wet, like a docile pet. It's absurd.

Jensen notices him looking. “Did you have something to say to me?”

“No,” Jared lies quickly, and looks back down again.

It’s only when Jensen’s two fingers deep into him, Jared mewling as Jensen cleverly works his fingers in and out, does he realize that Jensen’s not wearing gloves this time.

“I should make you prep yourself next time,” Jensen says, filthy and promising. “Force you to fuck yourself open on your own fingers, until your hole’s loose and gaping wide for me.”

Jared bites back the curse that almost rolls off his tongue, instead letting out a small, choked out sound. He sways forward, and Jensen catches him with a hand on his hips.

“Nearly done,” he murmurs. “I’m not going to plug you, so you’ll have to relax or you’ll hurt yourself later.”

“Okay,” Jared whispers. He feels Jensen withdraw his fingers, stepping away from him. There’s the sound of running water as Jensen washes his hands clean, then puts away the soap bottles.

Jensen has to help him up; he’s been on his hands and knees so long that his limbs feel like they’ve been locked into position. His muscles protest when Jensen hauls him up and pulls the damp towel off him, and his legs give way when he tries to stand on his own. But Jensen lets Jared bury his face into the crook of his neck, muffling his moans of pain into his warm, dry skin, a hand running through the wet strands of his hair.

“Can you move now?”

Jared nods gingerly. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.” Jensen’s hand in his hair suddenly stills, like a threat. “Get down again and crawl after me.”

 

 

 

The hardwood flooring feels like an exquisite torture on his aching palms and bruised knees. By the time they reach the bedroom, Jared’s gasping shallowly from the pain, and Jensen smiles viciously down at him. Like he just _knows_.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Jensen says softly.

Jared nods wordlessly. He doesn’t dare look up, but he guesses that they’re in the guest bedroom now; he can just see the edges of a plain, neatly made bed out of the corner of his eyes.

Jensen leads him across the room. There’s a dark leather armchair in one corner, and in front of it, on the floor: a simple, black machine. It looks like a saddle shaped in a half-barrel, set onto a makeshift cushioned platform. Jared stares at it, dazed, his attention drawn to the curved dildo rising wickedly from the top of the device.

“It’s a sybian,” Jensen says, and steps around the machine, settles down in the chair with his legs splayed out. The perfect picture of a domineering master. He looks coldly at Jared. “Get on it. I’m not turning it on, you’re going to fuck yourself while I watch.” 

Jared feels his face burn in humiliation as he crawls up to Jensen. The sybian is so close to the chair that he has to maneuver himself between Jensen’s knees, and Jensen makes no move to move out of the way for him, silently watching as Jared ungainly clambers up onto the machine. The dildo is narrow, already slicked up with lube, the stiff tip slipping almost painfully into him and cruelly jabs at his prostate when he seats himself down with shaky legs. The mix of stinging pain and hot arousal goes straight to his cock, and he looks up at Jensen, silently seeking his approval.

Jensen’s face is inscrutable for a moment, then his gaze turns sharp again.

“Now fuck yourself on it,” he says, harsh. “Think you can come without a hand on your cock?”

Jared weakly rises up halfway, falling back down on the fake cock with a shudder as the tip of it grazes past his prostate. It's like it’s already been perfectly angled just for him. “I can’t,” he says, pleading.

Jensen’s hand shoots out to grab his chin, tilting his face up to force Jared to look him in the eye. “I wasn’t asking you if you could do it,” he snarls. “I’m _ordering_ you to do it. Now fuck yourself, _boy_.”

 _Shit._ Jared blinks back the tears forming in his eyes, and forces himself up again, then down. Up, down, and up again, pathetically humping himself on the dildo, letting out small cries of relief every time it brushes against the sensitive bundle of nerves in him. It feels good but it’s not enough, his hands clenching into fists as he trembles from the exertion.

He looks up again. Jensen’s just watching him, lips set in a thin line, and Jared hazily wonders how he must look to him, naked and flushed pink, hard cock bouncing against his stomach as he foolishly fucks himself on a machine at Jensen’s feet.

“You’re taking too long, boy,” Jensen says. He leans forward, reaches out to pinch at Jared’s nipples. “I’m giving you just one more minute. If you don’t come in the next one minute, you’re not coming at all tonight.”

Jared winces in pain, tries to twist himself away, but Jensen just pulls harder.  

“What’s the matter? You’re not trying to get away from me, are you?” Jensen says, his voice all silk and danger.

“No,” Jared says, gasping. Jensen’s fingernails are digging in now, little crescents of agony flaring across his chest. He thinks he might actually start crying in desperation.

“Fifty seconds left, Jared,” Jensen says.

Jared unsteadily pulls himself up, concentrates on that elusive spark of pleasure as the dildo brushes again at that spot within him. Tries to angle his hips so he can grind down against it, all the while as Jensen twists at his nipples, unforgiving.

“Fifteen seconds,” Jensen says.

 _Fuck fuck fuck_ Jared’s _almost_ there, but it’s still not enough. He tries to beg, to plead for Jensen to just let him touch himself, he’s going to fail and Jensen is going to be furious and disappointed _again-_

“Five,” Jensen says, and suddenly releases his hold on him.

Jared thinks he screams, the pain intense and burning, magnified tenfold as the blood rushes back to his abused nipples. And it tips him right over the edge somehow, the shock of it like a hot flare that rushes right to his cock, and he’s comes so abruptly that his world goes white for a brief second.

“Good boy,” he thinks he hears Jensen say, and then the machine hums to life beneath him.

For a moment Jared’s too stunned to register anything, and then the pain hits him. It’s pure torture all over again. The dildo vibrating within him, pressing against his over-sensitive prostate. He gasps, tries to stand up, get away from the merciless stimulation, but Jensen shoves him back down.

“No,” Jensen says. “Sit back down, Jared. Don’t make me tie you up and chain you to the floor.”

“Hurts,” Jared chokes, screws his eyes shut as he feels the tears start to fall, “It _hurts,_ Jensen _please_ -”

“Open your eyes, boy,” Jensen says. “I want to see how desperate and pathetic you are when you’re begging me for mercy.”

Jared looks up at him, wild-eyed. There’s absolutely no pity or warmth in the hard lines of Jensen’s face, and something breaks and blossoms all at the same time within him.

His Master is _beautiful_.

He thinks that if Jensen’s going to order him to come over and over again until he’s dry and sore and aching, he would willingly do it.

Jared’s mouth falls open in a voiceless scream. Every inch of his skin feels like he’s been doused in ice, and his hole tender and sensitive and raw where the dildo’s still fucking into him.

“I should tie you down, I think,” Jensen says. Places a finger on Jared’s sternum, like he’s trying to steady him with that single touch. “Gag you, leave you here the whole night, the machine fucking you until you come dry, and you’re crying from the overstimulation, but you can’t escape.”

“Please,” Jared says brokenly. He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for anymore.

“Tell me, boy. Should I tie you down?”

“Yes Sir,” Jared whispers. It takes gigantic effort to force the words out. “If you must.”

“Good,” Jensen murmurs. He reaches behind him, and clicks the machine off.

Jared stares up at Jensen, feeling dumb, then slumps forward. Jensen catches him, slipping down to the floor to carefully ease him off the machine, kisses the top of his head. For a long, long time, they just stay there, Jensen holding him close.

After a while Jensen speaks up. “Bed? Or would you like another bath?”

Jared groans. “Bed,” he says. He’s not sure that he can even stand now, even if Jensen would probably help bathe him again if he asked.

“I’ll get you some wet wipes,” Jensen says.

Jensen helps him into bed, fishes out a huge box of apple-scented wet wipes from the bedside drawer. He kisses him again, this time on the forehead, tenderly wipes him down until Jared’s clean and fresh and smells of green apples. Jared nearly dozes off and has to shake himself awake when Jensen hands him a pair of the softest sweatpants he’s ever worn.

“Water,” Jensen says, producing a bottle of water out of seemingly nowhere, and pressing it to Jared’s lips.

Jared takes a small mouthful, sloshes it around the inside of his cheeks. Jensen doesn’t let him lie back down until he’s finished at least half of it.

“Go to sleep now,” Jensen murmurs. “I’m just going to go take a shower first.”

“Okay,” Jared says, sleepy and contented. He rolls over and buries his face in a huge, fluffy pillow that feels like a cotton cloud, then remembers that Jensen’s still there.

A quiet laugh, then, “Goodnight, Jared.”

“Nights,” Jared mumbles, and is asleep even before Jensen leaves the room.

 

 

 

Jared wakes up wonderfully rested and aching sweetly in all the right places, and to an empty, cool space on the bed next to him.

Then he remembers being woken up in the middle of the night by Jensen climbing out of bed and creeping out of the room. He’d fallen right back asleep soon after, but now he thinks that maybe Jensen never came back to bed after that.

He sits up, grimacing as the movement sends a fresh wave of pain through his body, and looks around.

His eyes fall first on the dark walnut closet across the room, then the matching chest of drawers next to it. There are a couple of framed photos hanging on the wall above it, on either side of a simple light sconce, and Jared gets up to take a closer look.

Jared gets up to take a closer look. One of them is obviously of Jensen and his family, gathered on a front porch of a house. They’re all dressed smartly. The men in suits, the women in gowns, like they're on their way to something important.

The second one is more casual. It’s slightly faded and stained, and Jared stares at it for a long time before he realizes that it’s a photo of a younger Jensen. He's surrounded by a small group of friends, laughing as they exaggeratedly point and gesture towards the camera.

This isn’t the guest bedroom. It’s Jensen’s own room – Jared whips around. The armchair is still in its corner, the sybian gone now, but there’s also a plain white door that probably leads to another bathroom. Little odds and ends are scattered around the room: a phone charger on the bedside table, a watch on the dresser.

Outside, the television is turned on to a random sports channel but the volume’s muted, and the faint smell of coffee is wafting from the direction of the kitchen.

There’s a single white pillow on the couch.

Jared stares at it, wonders with dull hurt if Jensen spent the night out here, alone, then decides that he’ll rather not think about it. He walks to the kitchen.

“Morning, sleepy,” Jensen says. He’s standing over the stove, pushing scrambled eggs about in a pan. “Impressive bedhead you’ve got there. Can you do the toast?”

“Sure.” Jared sits at the table, butters the bread and stacks it up on a plate. The toaster’s across the kitchen, and he has to squeeze past Jensen to get to it.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Like the dead,” Jared quips, which makes Jensen chuckle.

“Toast and eggs okay with you? And oh, I’m sure I still have some peanut butter around here, check the third cabinet from the left, won’t you?”

A quick investigation of said cabinet reveals peanut butter and two smaller jars of jam. Jared takes them all out and lines them up on the table. Jensen’s kitchen looks too clean, too orderly, like it’s been seldom used.

“I’m not really a breakfast person,” Jared says. “I rarely get up early enough to get myself anything.”

“Food’s important.” Jensen turns off the stove, picks up the entire frying pan and puts it on the table. “But I’ve gotta admit I rarely make my own breakfast. I’m usually on the way to the office by this time.”

There’s a small, white and blue clock hanging over the fridge. It’s two whole hours before office hours even start.

“How do you even find the time to do... everything that you do?"

Jensen shrugs. “Can’t help it, guess I’m just naturally good at everything,” he says, and grins.

Jared rolls his eyes at him, but he’s smiling too.

The eggs are scrambled to just the right consistency, creamy and buttery, and the jam not too sweet and full of chunks of fruit. Jensen clears the table and makes more coffee when they're done, and Jared washes the dishes.

“I never returned the favor,” Jared says, setting out the last plate onto the drying rack. He turns away, pretends to wipe his hand on the small towel hanging above the sink as he closely watches Jensen for his response.

“What?”

“I never returned the favor, last night,” Jared repeats, feeling bold. “I got off, you didn’t.”

Jensen’s face is neutral. “Last night wasn’t about me, it was about you.” Only Jensen can pull off a line like a terrible romance cliché and make it sound like a normal thing to say.

“I was pretty out of it, but I saw you,” Jared says, daring. “Your pants weren’t exactly hiding it.”

“Jared-”

“Let me blow you,” Jared says. “ _Please._ ”

Jensen stares at him. “You don’t have to,” he says, but his voice sounds less sure now.

“But I _want_ to,” Jared says.

“Okay,” Jensen says at last. “Come on.”

 

 

 

Jared sucks him off in the shower, warm water beating down on his shoulders, Jensen’s back pressed up against the tiled wall. Jensen has a hand in his hair, but lets Jared set the pace. Jared's knees hurt, but Jared focuses on Jensen, licking and sucking at the head of his cock, one hand wrapped around the shaft, another cupping his balls.

Jensen is quiet, save for a few moans that get drowned out by the sound of the shower. Jared glances up; Jensen’s eyes are closed, and he has a fist pressed against his mouth to muffle himself.

It occurs to him that it’s the first time he’s seen Jensen completely naked. Despite the lack of clothes, he still looks as powerful as ever, his body strong and muscled, like he can easily to hold Jared down even though he’s shorter than him.

Jensen comes suddenly, with a small surprised-sounding gasp as he spills over Jared’s tongue, warm and bitter. Jared tries hard not to make a face as he holds it in his mouth, then swallows it down, feeling it burn its way down his throat.

“Sorry,” Jensen says. He leans back against the wall, breathing heavily. “I should have warned you.”

“No, it’s okay,” Jared says, shrugging, then looks sheepish. “I know that was a terrible blowjob.”

They shower quickly, standing in separate corners of the shower enclosure, but when Jared glances over at Jensen to ask for the shampoo, he catches Jensen watching him and they both exchange smiles.

“I left your bag out in the living room, I’ll go get it for you,” Jensen says, wrapping a towel around his waist. “Do you need a toothbrush?”

“Nah, I brought my own,” Jared says.

He wanders up to the photos on the wall as he waits for Jensen, going back to stare at the old photo of Jensen and his friends. And then – he doesn’t know why he hadn’t recognized him earlier, but there’s a young man with a mess of wavy brown hair on Jensen’s right, an arm slung over Jensen’s shoulder. It’s Misha.

“Here’s your bag,” Jensen says from the doorway. He sees what Jared’s looking at, and comes up to stand behind him. “That’s from when I was in college. Some small-town university, you’ve probably never heard of it. That’s Misha there, that kid in the ugly shirt. He was my roommate, and he was the one responsible for ninety percent of the shit our dorm got into."

“Oh,” Jared says. He's not even surprised with this new bit of information. "You guys must have known each other for years."

"Yeah." Jensen shoves Jared's bag at him. "Now get dressed, or we'll both be late for work."

“Yes Sir," Jared says, and laughs when Jensen swats him on the back of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAH NO SEX AGAIN
> 
> Point one. In actual, real, realistic life, the sybian is designed for females. But Kink (*coughs* a porn studio that does a lot of fetish porn, which includes BDSM *coughs*) uses it in some of their gay porn shoots. But Kink, generally, is more showy and fancy and extreme. But hey, if visual porn is allowed to be sliiiightly unrealistic, written porn can be too. I guess.
> 
> Point two. I have zero idea how corporate internships work - I'm currently unemployed, but in a completely different field. Yay.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter to get a tiny bit of mundane but essential plot out of the way...?

The worst of the Saturday lunch hour crowd is gone by the time he gets back. Jared strips off his bright red uniform jacket as he strides though the little pizza joint, goes to the breakroom at the back to sling the offending item of clothing over the nearest empty chair. 

When he comes back out, a couple of the other waiters are aimlessly milling around the front counter.

“Hot day out, huh,” one of the girls says sympathetically.

“Yeah. Shoo, Katie.”

Katie makes a face at him, but steps out of the way so Jared can lean over the counter to reach the cash register. He taps in the security code, and drops in the cash when the drawer slides open.

“Hey, Jared. Guess what?” Katie holds up a receipt, still crisp from the register, and Jared groans when he sees the long list.

“Is Alex back yet? He’s been gone for over half an hour, and I could have sworn that he got a delivery really close by.”

“Nope. Didn’t see his car out back when I came in.”

The bell dings, and she rushes off to greet the new customers piling in, a gaggle of noisy teenagers clutching at armfuls of shopping bags. Jared slips back into the breakroom, and pulls out his phone.

There’s a message from Jensen, from five minutes ago. Jared’s still not sure exactly when they’ve started texting each other like this.

_What are you doing?_

Jared grins, settles down at the tiny rickety table in the corner to type out a reply.

_At my part time job now_

_You never told me you had a part time job._

There’s a sharp rap on the door. “Jared, can you man the phones for a bit?”

The phones are outside, right by the front door, in full view of the rest of the shop. Jared glances around to make sure nobody’s looking in his direction, surreptitiously angles his chair away, and continues texting Jensen under the counter.

_Pizza delivery. Guess what someone just ordered 20 pizzas_

Jensen takes longer to respond this time.  

_I suppose this means you won’t be free tonight? I was going to ask you if you wanted to come out to the club with me._

“Ah, well,” he mutters.

 _No, I work til 11. Full days on weekends._ Then, he adds in, _Im only free weekday nights_

“Delivery!”

Jared sighs, shoves his phone back into his pocket and stands up to go collect the twenty pizzas from the kitchen. It’s a longer drive out this time, all the way across town to some rich bastard’s house where an obviously hungover kid in shorts answers the door. The aftermath of a wild party the previous night is visible in the background: an upturned chair, empty cans of beer littering the floor.

“Oh, right,” the kid says, after handing over the required payment, frowning at his wallet like he’s having trouble telling apart the different notes. “Tips. Shouldn’t forget that.”

Jared gets over a hundred in tips, which he doesn’t question. He quickly gets back into his car and driving away before the kid can change his mind, and when he gets back to the shop, he takes out his phone again.

But then he sees Jensen’s last message.

 _They’re having some sort of an introductory event tonight, for beginners. Thought of bringing you. It’s okay, I’ll think of something,_ it says. And then, _I’ll be working with a few other clients today and tomorrow, thought you might like to know. See you on Monday._

Jared’s not sure how to respond. Obviously whatever it is they’re doing – they’re not mutually exclusive, he’s not that naive to think otherwise. His fingers hover over the screen as he thinks of a reply.

In the end, he sends back, _Thanks. Im already pulling less shifts than usual, cant afford to cut more hours. See you._

He goes back to work. He thinks he should be upset or even mildly letdown, but strangely he isn’t.

 

 

 

It feels like everything and nothing’s changed between them at work. Jared’s still careful to address him formally around other people, and Jensen’s still as strict as ever about deadlines and the quality of his work. But now that he knows where he stands with Jensen, he feels more clear-headed, more like himself again.

It’s somehow rather relieving.

They don’t even spend that much time together, just a few minutes here and there throughout the day when Jared drops by Jensen’s office to hand in his latest work, or when Jensen calls him over for a quick lesson on whatever he’s working on.

But still Jared can’t help but notice all of Jensen’s quirks; how Jensen does an odd little roll with his shoulders and elbows as he’s settling down to start on a new project, the way his face goes from frowny to stoic in a flash whenever he’s annoyed. How Jensen’s confidence is more inner, laid-back calm than overbearing gregariousness, but still commanding respect and attention to himself.

And Jensen is busy, sometimes up to the point that he works right through lunch, and he’s still at it when Jared’s ready to leave for the day. Jared wonders guiltily if Jensen’s spending too much time on working with him – and so just before the start of his lunch break, Jared sneaks down to the company canteen, gets a fresh sandwich, the bread still crisp and warm, the cheese still sticky and melting.

“And a fruit salad too, please,” Jared says, as the lady rings up the sandwich, and turns to the fridge to select the juiciest-looking salad he can find among the stacks of little plastic disposable containers.

Jensen’s still in his office when Jared gets back to the department. Jared knocks on his door, and pushes it open without waiting for Jensen to call him in.

“Hey.” Jared holds up the neat packages of food. “You’re still working on that market projection, right? I got you lunch.”

Jensen seems genuinely surprised, but he smiles as Jared sits down opposite him.

“Thanks,” Jensen says, but then his brow furrows. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” Jared says, shrugging. “You missed lunch yesterday.”

Jensen actually laughs at that, but he reaches out for the sandwich and peels off the plastic wrap. Again a brief look of surprise crosses his face. “Is this from the canteen downstairs?”

“Yup.” Jared looks sheepish. “I sneaked out early so I could get the good stuff before the lunch crowd,” he admits.

Jensen takes a bite. “Try not to let anyone catch you sneaking off too much,” he says, but there's no disapproval in his voice. “Didn’t you get anything for yourself?”

“No, I’m meeting up with a couple of the other interns for lunch,” Jared says. He checks his watch; there’s still about five minutes to go before the actual lunch hour starts.

Jensen deftly snaps open the lid of the salad with one hand, then pushes it over to him. “You have some, too.”

Jared shakes his head. “No, it’s okay, I have to go soon anyway.”

Jensen gives him a look, then delicately picks out a grape between his thumb and index finger. Half-standing up from his chair, he leans across the table, presses the cold, round fruit right against Jared’s lips.

“Eat,” Jensen says.

Jared dutifully opens his mouth, lets Jensen feed him the grape. He reflexively catches the small fruit with his teeth before it rolls onto his tongue, but Jensen keeps a finger pressed lightly against his lower lip.

“ _Eat_ ,” he repeats. 

Jared knows that tone of voice; it’s the one Jensen likes to use on him, cool and low and deceptively serene. He chews slowly, the sour-sweet juice of the grape bursting over his tongue. He doesn’t draw away, and Jensen doesn’t let go until he’s swallowed.

“Thank you,” Jared says. He wonders if he should be terrified at Jensen’s random display of casual dominance over him, but if anything, it just makes him crave it all the more. He feels curiously calm, but then he looks up and sees Jensen’s face.

“Shit,” Jensen says. He’s gone pale, his eyes wide in horror. “I shouldn’t have done that, Jared, I’m sorry-”

“I don’t understand,” Jared says, slowly.

It’s a lie; he thinks he knows why and the thought both excites and frustrates him. He waits for Jensen’s answer.

Jensen rubs a hand over his face, suddenly weary. It’s a while before he responds. “Feeding you. _Ordering_ you to eat. I should have asked for your permission first.”

He’s right, then. Jared blurts out the first thing that pops into his head. “I liked it, I like it when you do stuff like that,” he says. “I didn’t mind it at all.”

“It was still inappropriate,” Jensen says.

“In that case,” Jared says impulsively now, tilting his chin up in bold defiance, “I’ll like it if you do it more often. Push me around, tell me what to do, punish me if I disobey you. I can take it. Damnit, I _want_ you to do it.”

Jensen goes very still, and when he finally speaks, his voice is tight. “Jared, I don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”

“I do, I’m not stupid,” Jared says. He takes his chance, recklessly pushes even more. “You want it too, don’t you?”

“You’re saying that you want a relationship.”

“Yes,” Jared says. It’s the oddest way of propositioning someone. He’s never been shy about making the first move, but this is _Jensen_ , and this is more Jensen’s forte than his own. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and have it all slip away.

Ridiculously, he’s suddenly aware that he’s going to be late meeting up the other guys for lunch.

It’s been three weeks since the start of his internship. Three weeks of working directly under Jensen. A little over two months since Jared was looking up profiles for professional dominants in the area.

“I haven’t taken on anyone in years,” Jensen says, then falls silent. Jared watches him closely until Jensen relents, and goes on, “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes.” Jared tries not to let his nervousness show. He has no idea what the fuck he’s getting himself into, but there’s just _something_ about Jensen that he doesn’t care.

“God, you,” Jensen says, as though in wonder. He stretches out, cups Jared’s face in his hand like a child. Strokes a thumb over the arch of his cheek, then pulls away. “I want you to think about what exactly you want from this,” he says. “This isn’t something you rush into, it’s not the same as a casual session every now and then. It’ll be harder, more intense. I’ll have rules that I expect you to follow, and I _will_ punish you if you break any of them.”

He nods shakily, mute.

Jensen doesn’t smile. “I _will_ collar you,” he says, his words like a promise. “I will decide what you wear, what you _don’t_ wear. When you eat, what you eat. You’ll be kneeling by my feet, eating only what I feed you from my hand. I will hurt you, push you to your limits, and there will be no mercy. Do you think you’re ready for all this?”

Jared tries to remember to breathe. “I want to,” he says, _to belong to you_. He sits there staring at the smooth polished surface of the table, his thoughts a messy jumble. It terrifies him but he wants it, wants it so badly that his heart aches.

There’s a knock on the door, and Misha pops his head in. He doesn’t even look surprised to see Jared, instead just arches his eyebrows and says, “Should I come back later?”

Jensen answers for him. “No. Jared’s done here.”

Jared recognizes the abrupt dismissal. He wonders if this is what it’ll be like – Jensen casually ordering him around like he wields all the power in the world above him, and stands up. “I was just about to leave,” he says, more for Jensen’s benefit than to Misha.

“Think about what I told you,” Jensen says, as Jared’s on his way out. “See you tomorrow, Jared.”

 

 

 

The club looks different at night, muffled music and bright LED lights lit up across the front.

Jared looked it up online; it’s a fetish club all right, with the main section of the club open to the general public with a small fee, entry to the dungeons restricted to members or by reservation. Wednesdays and Fridays are casual dress code nights, so Jared chooses Wednesday night, going by the guess that it’s going to be crowded on Fridays.

He looks fresh, _vulnerable_ in his jeans and plain black tee, he realizes belatedly, but it’s too late to turn back now. The bouncer gives him a cursory once-over, and Jared hands over his student card and ten dollars.

“Good luck, kiddo,” the guy says, his expression halfway between a sigh and a questioning sneer, then passes his card back to him and points him in through the door.

The music is loud. Jared stuffs his hands into his pockets and winds his way through, pretending to look aloof and only mildly curious. A good part of the crowd are in varying states of undress, tight leather and chains lying shining against bare skin. He passes by a woman in a corset and heeled boots leading her collared slave on a leash, looks onstage to see a naked sub strapped down to a bench, shivering visibly as a masked dom runs a spiked pinwheel down his back.

He reaches the bar and somehow finds a seat to himself. He sits down, spins his stool about so he can look up at the stage. The dom’s lighting up a candle now, and Jared watches, mesmerized, as the man tilts the candle about until a large glob of liquid wax forms shimmering under the flame.

The bartender saunters over. He’s shirtless, lanky but lean muscle, and Jared catches himself before he can stare.

“Jack and Coke, please,” Jared says.

“You can’t play if you’re gonna get drunk,” the bartender says. “We have soft drinks too, if you want to stay sober.”

Jared nods. “Gotcha. It’s okay, I’m not planning on doing anything tonight.” He watches the demonstration as he waits for the guy to come back with his drink, then casually asks, “You been working here long?”

“A couple of years now.” The guy leans against the counter, eyeing him up. Jared can’t tell if he’s interested or just being friendly. He looks young, probably around Jared’s own age. “The pay’s decent. I work at night, go to school during the day, _and_ things can get pretty interesting around here. If you ask me, I couldn’t ask for a better job.”

“I’ll bet,” Jared says. “I’m Jared, by the way.”

“Jake.” Jake shakes his hand over the counter. “You new to this?”

“I’ve had one or two experiences,” Jared says blithely. “How does it work? The club, I mean – you guys have a membership, right?”

Jake nods. “Regular membership’s twenty-five for a year, premium’s about six hundred, if I remember correctly. It’s pricey, but premium gets you into the dungeons upstairs, use of all the equipment we have, with an extra booking fee, but y’know.”

“Ever been up there yourself?”

Jake shrugs. “Not really. I’m more into watching, if you get what I mean.”

“Ah.” Jared sips at his drink. It’s good, a perfect mix of sweet with a pleasant tang of whiskey. “I’ve only been up there once. Hey, have you heard of this guy? His name’s Jensen, he’s a pro dom. I think he comes here sometimes?”

Jake doesn’t even seem fazed. “Yeah, I know him, he’s a regular. Not the most popular one we have around here, but he’s a nice guy.” Then he grins wickedly. “Are you looking for him? He’s usually in only on weekends though. His demonstrations are like, _damn_ son. Fucking _hot_ , gets the crowd going every time.”

Jared blinks. That’s news to him. “He does demonstrations? Like-” he gestures to the stage “-those kind of demonstrations?”

Jake nods again. “He just had one last Saturday,” he says. “I guess you weren’t here to see it?”

Jared shakes his head. Last Saturday... Last Saturday was when Jensen asked him if he was free to come out to the club. He wonders if it was a coincidence. Probably not, he decides, and inwardly curses his bad luck.

There’s a new group making their way up to the bar. Jake excuses himself, and Jared turns his attention back to the stage. Tries to imagine Jensen up there, likely again dressed in his understated bondage gear. Maybe a mask, too – now that he thinks about it, Jensen probably has to be discreet about his lifestyle in the scene, he realizes. He doubts any corporation worth their heft would approve of one of their top executives being a professional dom on the side.

A few people approach him, but Jared apologetically turns them all down. He sits there, half-watching the stage, swirls his glass about to clink the ice cubes together as they melt, then orders another when he’s done with it. The music thumps from the speakers overhead, a pulsing rhythm that seems to want to beat down at his inhibitions.

The demonstration onstage ends, and Jared claps along with the rest of the crowd. Jake returns to give him an odd, questioning look.

“Dude, you okay there?”

“Mm.” Jared pulls out his wallet to pay for his drinks. He’s still extremely sober.

“Leaving already? Do you need anything else?”

“Yeah. And no.” Jared gives him a small smile. “I think I have what I came for.”

 

 

 

Just a little over a month until the end of his internship.

Jared’s thoughts wander aimlessly as he flips through the calendar on his phone. After this he’s got about a month free until the start of the new college semester – he’s still undecided if he wants to go home or to just stay here to work, switch his part-time shifts over to full-time, save up more money for final year.

He could definitely use the money; the final semesters are going to be tough, and if he has enough saved up, he can quit his job to focus entirely on studying. Gen’s coming back soon anyway for her summer classes, some elective course she signed up for at the very last minute. It’s not going to be this deathly quiet and boring every night with her around, which should help him feel less shitty about himself.

He’s going to miss seeing Jensen every day.

Whatever they have now, it’s not going to be easy keeping it up once Jared goes back to college. He should cut his losses now while he still can, keep his head down and soldier through his goddamn internship and forget any of this ever happened.

Jared doesn’t think he can do it.

He falls asleep with his hand curled around his phone in a loose grip, and dreams of Jensen and leather masks and molten puddles of wax set alight in fire.


	5. Chapter 5

The streets are unusually quiet, absent of the usual noise and quietly ordered clamor of the usual student population in the area, with so many students having gone home for summer break. Jared kind of misses the noise still, even with his earphones in, timing his pace to the swinging beat of his music as he jogs down the uneven sidewalk. 

He’s terribly out of shape – he used to be more diligent about going to the local gym regularly in his first year. There are usually three other regular morning runners on his route but today he’s alone, which gives him more time to think.

He doesn’t _want_ to think.

Jared wonders if he’s being childish. There’s no way any of this will ever work out, especially considering their circumstances. But still his mom hadn’t minded so much when he had texted her yesterday, casually mentioning that he might not be going home for the rest of his break after all.

He doesn’t meet anyone even on his way back, but at least he thinks he’s managed to work off the worst of his nerves before he has to meet Jensen later in the evening.

The day seems to drag on longer than usual and Jared doesn’t see Jensen all day until it’s nearly time to go home. When Jensen comes in around four, he looks weary and irritated, so Jared gets up on the pretense of going to the pantry to refill his water bottle. Goes past Jensen as he's unlocking the door to his office,  and lightly touches his arm, just above his elbow.

He doesn’t stop but goes on walking, then steals a glance backward. Jensen smiles at him, mouths a silent _thank you_.

Jared has to wait till six before the last of the workers on their floor leave for the day. Then he goes straight to Jensen’s office and lets himself in. 

He sits on the sofa and watches Jensen shift through stacks of files looking for something before clearly giving up.

“We could do this at my place if you want the privacy,” Jensen suggests.

Jared tries hard not to fidget. He’s been playing with the straps of his bag just for the sake of something to do with his hands. The door’s locked, but there’s still something dangerous and thrilling about this, Jared thinks. He wonders if he has a public humiliation kink, and has to fight back an inappropriate grin.

He’s definitely losing his mind.

“Nah,” he says. “I’m okay.”

Jensen just gives him an amused look, comes over to sit down opposite him. “We’ll discuss this as equals. Do you have a clear idea of what you want, or do you need me to outline options for you to choose from?”

Jared _knows_ what he wants, but it all sounds laughably immature in his own head. “Can you give me options?”

“Sure.” Jensen leans forward to look him right in the eyes. It’s slightly discomfiting. “I’m not interested in taking on a slave, or having anyone serving me. And it’ll be strictly just between the two of us, I will never involve anyone else in our play, and I will never display you to anyone against your wishes.”

“Okay,” Jared says. He tries to resist the urge to look away.

“And now there’s the matter of our schedules.” Jensen looks thoughtful. “Ideally we would set up an arrangement for weekday nights. Like before, you’ll stay over with me, and we’ll come in to work the next morning together. I’ll prefer to start off with shorter sessions, starting from the exact moment we arrive at my place, ending when it’s time to go to bed. You mentioned you work weekends?”

Jared nods. “We get shifts, but I took on double shifts, so ten to eleven, Saturday and Sunday. My parents paid for my car and tuition and most of the stuff I need, but anything else I want is all on me.” 

Jensen frowns. “Quit your job.”

“ _What?_ ”

Jensen seems unconcerned. “Quit your job. I’ll give you an allowance to make up for it-”

“But-”

“Will five hundred a week be enough?”

Jared stops, stares at Jensen. Jensen looks completely serious.

“You _can’t_ do that,” he says.

“I can,” Jensen says. “I promise you that you _will_ be drained out by the weekend, and I want you to have those two days free to go home, rest, catch up on anything else you need to do.”

It does make sense. And it would mean that he’ll be spending five whole days out of the week with Jensen. But still – “I can’t just take your money,” Jared says quietly.

Jensen softens. “I’m not insisting that you do it,” he says. “I had no idea you were working another job until you told me. But if you’re going to be mine, I want to take full responsibility for you, and that does include making sure that you’re okay. I want you to have some time for yourself, and I promise I will never control your finances or spending, or withhold an allowance as a punishment. ”

Five hundred a week would add up to two thousand a month. It’s a lot of money, more than what he needs; he’s lucky enough that his parents aren’t that hard up that he’s never actually been strapped for cash himself. And Jared’s not about to take advantage of Jensen, but something tells him that it would be pointless to argue the point now.

“I’ll think about it,” Jared says evasively. He sees a mildly displeased look cross Jensen’s face, and quickly deflects the topic with a question.  “How about rules?”

Jensen eyes him. “I have a few rules I expect you to obey without question, others that I’m willing to be more flexible on.”  He pauses, as though to gauge Jared’s reaction before he continues, counting off each point on his fingers like a checklist. “Grooming rules – it’s up to you if you want to shave, but I insist that you must be clean when we play. You will be naked at all times, and you will kneel or sit at my feet unless I give you permission to do otherwise. No masturbating, no orgasms without my permission. You okay with all these so far?”

Jared doesn’t know if he can trust his voice not to fail him. He swallows dryly, and nods.

Jensen tilts his chin up. “That’s another one. When I speak to you or ask you a question, I expect to hear a proper answer. And you know how to address me.”

He ducks his head. “Yes, Sir,” he whispers.

Jensen stands up, walks over to him. Jared holds his breath, staring, almost mesmerized as Jensen drops down to one knee in front of him, reaches out a hand to touch his cheek in a warm caress. “We’ll try this out for two weeks,” he says, “Consider it part of your training. If it goes well, I’ll get you a proper collar that will mark you as mine.”

It’s hard to resist the urge to lean into his palm. “I’ll like that,” Jared says. To be owned, _collared_ and marked by Jensen.

Jensen’s still kneeling. “Do you want to come over again? We don’t have to do anything too heavy tonight.”

Jared shakes his head. He wants to pull Jensen up, to protest that it’s so utterly wrong for him to be in that position before him. “You’re tired,” he says, then shakes his head again before Jensen can say anything in response. “Go home and sleep, _Jensen_ ,” he adds, making sure to emphasize his name ever so slightly.

A long moment passes, then Jensen finally straightens up. “You’re right,” he says. Then he bends down again, kisses the top of his head. “Thank you, Jared.”

 

 

 

It almost feels like he’s moving in.

Jensen lets him have the spare bedroom to himself. It’s not as comfortable as Jensen’s own room, the only furniture a single bed and a plain cabinet for his clothes. He shows him how to work the washer, where he keeps stuff around the rest of the house and the kitchen. Two days later Jensen hauls in a folding table and an extra dining chair for him to use as a makeshift work desk. 

Jared helps him set up the table in a corner by the window. It’s exciting, idyllic and terrifying all at the same time.

And it _almost_ feels like they’re roommates, in the oddest sort of way. Jensen doesn’t pry into his things, doesn’t say anything when Jared clears out a tiny space in the bathroom cabinet for his own shampoo and shaving cream, adds his extra toothbrush and razor to the glass cup by the mirror.

They spend the first few days just working on a routine. Jensen is an unforgiving master, absurdly meticulous right down to the smallest detail. Jared thinks he’s never felt more frustrated or nervous his entire life.  

“Keep your hands behind your back. Knees wider apart. Let me see your cock, boy.”

Jared feels himself flush red, but obeys, carefully shifting his weight onto his heels to keep his balance. It’s embarrassing. Lewd. Naked, his cock and balls exposed between his legs, hands uncomfortably crossed behind his back.

“Good.” Jensen circles him slowly, once. “This is the exact position I want you in when I give you the order to kneel.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jared says. He keeps his eyes down, watches Jensen’s boots as he paces around again.

Jensen stops in front of him. He nudges at his balls with a foot, then presses against the tender flesh, digging in with the stiff tip of his boot until Jared makes a small noise of pain.

“If you ever find that you’re too embarrassed to present yourself, I can always lock you into a spreader bar for a few hours.”

Jared shudders.

“No, Sir,” he says, and shuffles his legs farther apart.

He realizes that Jensen’s taking things very slowly on purpose; it’s a lot of quiet kneeling or curling up on the floor by his feet. He gets a cushion for when he’s on his knees, and true to his word, Jensen feeds him dinner in small bites off his own fork, then lets him stretch his legs by having Jared do the dishes when they’re done eating.

After a few days of this, Jared deliberately locks himself in the bathroom before dinner, and quickly jacks himself off. He comes into a tissue and carelessly wads it up, and drops it into the little bin under the sink.

The next night, Jensen waits until he’s done with the washing up, then wordlessly grabs Jared as he’s walking to the living room after him. Jensen ties him down, gags him, then bends him over the couch and viciously fucks him with his fingers until he’s loose and open, nearly in tears from the dizziness and arousal and pain – Jensen hadn’t bothered with much lube, just enough to ease the first finger in.

“I gave you a direct order, and you openly disobey me,” Jensen says calmly. “I won’t be as lenient the next time this happens. Now-” he unlaces the cuffs locking Jared’s wrists together “-stay down, hold yourself open and don’t let go until I say so.”

Jensen leaves him like that for the rest of the night until it’s time to go to bed, ass in the air, hole sore and gaping wide, arms aching as he struggles to keep his own ass cheeks spread and his muscles relaxed. Jared quietly cries himself to sleep that night, hurt and furious, and the next morning, Jensen silently pulls him into a firm hug.

“I’m sorry,” Jared says. His voice is hoarse. “I won’t do it again.”

“Patience will be an important part of this,” Jensen says, his voice soft. “You still have a long way to go, and I want to teach you everything I know, but first you’ll have to let me take control.”

Jared exhales. “Yeah,” he says at last.

Jensen seems to hesitate, then says, “Want to sit down and rest for a bit?”

Jared can’t help but glance at his watch. They should be leaving soon. “We’ll be late for work,” he says, unsure.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t have anything important scheduled until the afternoon.”

They end up on the couch, Jared’s head drooping down on Jensen’s shoulder. For a ridiculous moment, Jared worries if he might accidentally crease Jensen’s work shirt, but Jensen shifts him so that he’s lying down, his head resting on his lap.

“You know,” Jared says, “I went to the club last week.”

“I know. Jake’s an old friend of mine, he told me.”

“Oh.” Jared grimaces. “I wanted to find out more about you.”

“Don’t apologize. That was the correct thing to do, I would have been more disappointed if you hadn’t.” Jensen strokes through his hair. “Did you see anything that you liked?”

“Mm.” Jared thinks.  “Jake told me that you do those demos for the club sometimes.”

Jensen sounds amused. “You want to watch me do a demonstration?”

“Yeah. Kinda.” Jared takes a deep breath. “Would you ever do one with me?”

Jensen looks briefly surprised. “Would you want to?”

“I don’t know,” Jared says honestly. “It looked really intense.”

“It is. You’ll need to be a bit of an exhibitionist, you’re going to have a whole crowd of people watching you. And demos tend to be more elaborate. You’re focused on showing off your technique rather than actually teaching anything. I don’t particularly enjoy it, it doesn’t have the same intimacy you would get doing it privately, but-” he shrugs, detached, “-it’s a job.”

“Ah.” The feel of Jensen’s fingers running through the strands of his hair is extremely comforting, and Jared closes his eyes. The thought of being tied down, naked and vulnerable in front of a watching audience thrills and fills him with apprehension. “How did you get started with the whole… dom thing?”

“When I was in my first year in college,” Jensen pauses, then gives him a pained look. “Misha brought me to a fetish club.”

Jared blinks. “What?”

“Yup.” Jensen looks oddly chagrined. “He was my senior. He introduced me to the scene, helped me find a master who was willing to train new doms, and… Well. We used to go to workshops and classes together, practice on each other. He’s exceptionally good at leaving marks. Or maybe I just bruise easily, I don’t know.”

Jared looks up at him, tries to imagine Jensen’s neck blotted with a ring of darkened bruises where a collar would lie. “Does he know,” he starts, then trails off awkwardly. Now everything seems to make sense; Misha’s nonchalance whenever he catches them together, the knowing smirks and comments he directs at Jared when he’s trying to rile Jensen up.

He feels envious, wonders how much more Misha and Jensen have shared together.

“Yeah, he does. But you can trust him, he’s a dom himself, he won’t tell anyone.” Jensen winces uncharacteristically. “Sorry I didn’t tell you this earlier.”

“Nah. I’m just… surprised. That’s all.”

It’s a blatant lie, but Jensen either doesn’t notice it or he’s intentionally letting it slip by. Jared heaves himself up, tries to smooth down his ruffled hair, and makes a face when Jensen chuckles at him. He needs a haircut soon; his hair is already falling down to his neck, and he absently mentions it to Jensen.

“No, don't. I like it like this, let it grow out.” Jensen tangles his fingers into the strands of his hair. “Gotta have something to hold on to when I want to pull you around."

 

 

 

Jared quits his job a week later.

He’s not going to miss it too much, even with the free leftover pizza and soup they get every night after closing. They give him a card printed all over with brightly colored balloons, the inside covered with signatures and well wishes, and Jared sticks it to the wall above his desk in his own apartment.

It’s strange to think that he’ll be spending more time at Jensen’s place rather than his own, now. Jensen has yet to bring up what they’ll do _after_ Jared’s internship is over, when Jared has to go back to attending classes as usual. Maintaining their current arrangement won’t be impossible, but Jared doubts Jensen will allow him to spend as much time with him if he’s going to need to be concentrating on his classes as well.

He spends a good portion of his Saturday sleeping, only getting out of bed long enough to dig out an expired packet of crackers from the back of the kitchen cabinet, which he eats with slices of cheap processed cheese before falling back into a fitful sleep again, this time on the couch. It’s late in the evening by the time he feels he has enough energy to be productive, and he reluctantly drags himself up and into the bathroom for a cold shower.

His phone is beeping with a new text message when he comes back out, shivering but marginally more awake.

 _The apartment had better not be a shithole when I come back_.

Jared grins. Gen has a way of making him laugh even when she doesn’t mean to. He still hasn’t figured out how to tell her that he’s not going to be around five days a week; she knows how to mind her own business, but she does love to bug him sometimes.

 _Sacrificing my precious sleeping time cleaning the apartment now, ur highness_.

He _does_ clean the apartment, mopping the floor and wiping down the surfaces, attempts to sort out the clutter in the tiny living room. It’s only been one week of him staying over at Jensen’s, but somehow the place is already starting to look a little less lived-in.

It’s almost midnight by the time he’s done cleaning. He takes another quick shower and falls into bed with his hair still dripping wet, and wakes up in the middle of the night starving and feeling like shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I have to admit: I was going to write more for this chapter, but I was feeling upset over something that happened irl, and posting fic makes me feel loads better because I get comments! And kudos! People who actually read the shit I write! 
> 
> And so I posted this anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing is now part of a series, currently with two parts and counting, because I wanted to write silly Cockles porn to fit into this AU. And also because I'll need somewhere to post random bits of J2 porn that wouldn't fit into the flow of this fic. Basically it's just porn everywhere. I am terrible.
> 
> Edit: There will NOT be any cockles in this. Any cockles in this verse will be platonic and written as a prequel to this fic. It'll be more cute "What is this thing? Is it supposed to go inside you??" as they attempt to figure out how to be doms together, rather than them actually being in a relationship.

 

“Is everything okay?”

Jared’s sitting by Jensen’s feet again, knees curled up loosely to his chest. It’s their usual post-dinner routine now, and he’s beginning to find it calming even if they’re not doing anything much. The television’s on with the volume set low as Jensen scribbles something in a notebook. Jared has his eyes closed, focused on the quiet scratching of Jensen’s pen across the paper.

Jensen pauses in his writing. “What?”

“Is everything okay?” Jared turns slightly to look up at Jensen, unsure if he’s going to be punished for speaking out of turn. Jensen’s already made it a rule that they’re never to discuss work while playing. He hesitates, then goes on anyway. “You looked beat this morning.”

He _did_ look terrible. Pale and swollen-eyed, somehow less put together even when Jared dropped by his office to hand him the latest audit files.

“I was tired, I suppose,” Jensen says, finally. He sets his book down slowly. “Was it that obvious?”

“Yeah.” Jared relaxes as Jensen strokes a hand down his hair. “What happened?”

Jensen takes a while to answer but when he does, the light-hearted tone of his voice seems a little forced. “Had a bad weekend.”

Jared falls silent. He understands the implications of Jensen’s response; it’s not a topic they’ve broached, and he doesn’t think he wants to just yet. The logical part of him is petty, reasons that Jensen _should_ prefer him over the strangers he works with on the weekends, that Jensen’s already _chosen_ him. A smaller, envious part of him wants to be childish and demand that Jensen gives up playing with other subs, even if he’s doing it as a job.

Jensen seems to sense his distress, and gently tugs at his hair. “How about you? You didn’t look that well yourself.”

“I slept the entire Saturday, then I couldn’t sleep at all Sunday night,” Jared says. It’s clear that Jensen’s steering the topic away from himself. “I think I just need some time to get used to this.”

Jensen’s hand suddenly clamps around the back of his head, pushing him down, hard. Jared instinctively lets him, feeling his heart suddenly a little faster in anticipation.

“Were you eating properly at all?” Jensen says, shrewd.

“Not really,” Jared confesses.

“What did you have?”

Jared thinks. “Instant noodles,” he says. “Rice and beans for dinner on Sunday.”

Jensen releases him. “From now on, I want you to report to me when you’re going to bed, and when you wake up. Your meals, and anything else you might eat in between.”

Jared straightens up. “Yes, Sir,” he says, slightly irritated, but feeling a strange thrill at the thought. He waits for Jensen to go on, but he’s already gone back to his writing. Jared lets a few more minutes pass, feeling his frustration building up, then says, “Jensen?”

This time he manages to get Jensen’s complete attention. He turns around to see Jensen frowning at him, a worried crease across his brows at Jared’s use of his name.

“If there’s anything bothering you, or if you’re feeling upset,” Jared says, careful, “You can take it out on me.”

“Jared,” Jensen says, and Jared’s surprised that he’s not even angry, “That’s not how this works. You don’t need to prove yourself to me.”

“Even if I wanted you to do it?”

“Jared-”

“Please,” Jared says. “Let me do this for you. Isn’t this what I’m here for?”

Because it’s always been Jensen taking care of him up till now. Watching out for him, teaching and guiding him. And he’s been with Jensen long enough to spot the signs, when Jensen’s stressed out but pretends that everything’s okay. Jared hates it, wishes he could do something for him in return.

A long moment passes. Jared tenses, wondering if he’s crossed a line somewhere, but then Jensen relaxes, sighs.

“You incredible boy,” Jensen says. He grips a handful of Jared’s hair and pulls. “Maybe one day. But not now. At this point, all of this, everything you’re doing now – I want you doing it for yourself. The main purpose of these two weeks is for you to explore your own kinks, your limits. I’m just here to help you along, give you a nudge here and there where I see potential for more.”

Jared rests his cheek against the side of Jensen’s knee. He closes his eyes. “After this, then,” he says, desperate to break his way through Jensen’s seemingly blank wall of emotions even if just a little more. The words slip out of him easier than he expects, “I want you to use me, Jensen,please.”

“Remember what I told you about being patient?” Jensen bends down to whisper in his ear, his voice turning low and dark. “I promise you, I _will_ have you. I’ll train you to be always ready for me, bend you over the kitchen counter if I wanted you right there and then. Or I would have you on your knees, arms tied so tightly behind your back you can’t feel your fingers. I’ll fuck your mouth, come down your throat and make you swallow every last drop.”

 _You’re lying_ , Jared thinks, but forces it to the back of his mind, the nagging self-doubt whenever he gives into thinking _too_ much. “ _Promise_ ,” he says.

“Yes,” Jensen says. He stops to nose along the side of Jared’s neck, hand still tangled in his hair to hold him still. “There’s so much more I want to do to you, but not yet, not now.”

“Okay,” Jared says, finally. He takes a deep breath. “Can you give me a bath, please, Sir?”

Jensen finally smiles, straightening back up. “Of course,” he says. “Come on.”

Even if Jensen makes him kneel through the bath as usual, the warm water seems to help wash away his pent-up frustration. After that, he hauls Jared into bed with him, still naked, and makes him lie down on his front.

“Don’t move,” Jensen says. He straddles Jared's ass and starts to work on his shoulders, skillfully massaging and kneading at his knotted muscles.

Jared lets him, too pliant and relaxed to argue. He buries his face into the pillows to muffle his sighs and groans of relief, and when Jensen’s done, Jared curls up to him under the sheets. Wraps his fingers around the hem of Jensen’s shirt like he needs to anchor himself. Or maybe he’s trying to hold them together, he doesn’t know.

 _Love you anyway_ , Jared thinks woozily, and falls asleep.

 

 

 

Three and a half weeks to go.

For some reason Jared finds the blank performance evaluation sheet lying on the table in front of him _amusing._ It’s supposed to be filled in by their supervisors, according to Misha, as he paces about a few rows away with his usual energy. One of the sections reads Professional Attitude and Competence; Jared thinks he probably deserves a negative score for half of the bulleted points under that. He hastily looks down, hides his grin by pretending to cover his mouth as though muffling a cough.

“You’ll be given a copy of the completed form at the end of your internship,” Misha’s saying. “I would suggest you keep it, particularly if you’re thinking of applying for our paid internship program, or even a permanent position in our company. A position would  _not_ be guaranteed, but we do take it into consideration. Any questions? No?”

Misha hasn’t even _glanced_ in Jared’s direction the entire meeting. Jared can see why Jensen and Misha would be good friends; they probably have a lot in common. They’re _nice._ Natural, charismatic leaders.

“And that’s it for now,” Misha says. “But before you leave, I’ll like to remind all of you again that you may address any complaints or suggestions directly to my email. Or you can come meet me in person, you know where to find me. And oh, Jared Padalecki, I’d like a word with you, so stay back.”

 _Oh. Fuck_. Jared tries to put on his best politely puzzled face, and nods. “Um. Yes, Mr. Collins.”

The other interns file out. Jared hopes his expression doesn’t betray his panic, and tries to look casual as he exchanges looks with one of the guys going past.

“It’s probably nothing,” he mutters.

“No, he’s not in trouble,” Misha calls out. “He’s the only one in his department, I just need to discuss his workload. Run along, Osric.”

Osric doesn’t look convinced, and gives Jared a sympathetic look. “See you at lunch, the usual place?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Jared says.

Misha waits until the last one shuffles out, then strides over and locks the door. Jared stares, and tries not to shrink back in his chair as Misha walks up to him. He’s never been alone with Misha before despite having met him near countless times before; it’s always been with Jensen around before this.

 “Relax. I’m not going to give you the shovel talk. Not yet, anyway.” Misha grins. “And it doesn’t feel quite right threatening a kid, _and_ I know how protective Jensen can get with his things.”

“Um,” Jared says, quite eloquently. He’s not sure what else to say.

“You can call me Misha.” Misha pulls out the chair next to him and sits down. He frowns, like he’s observing Jared keenly for the first time, then makes a small noise that sounds a lot like approval. “I suppose Jensen’s finally told you about me?”

“Yeah,” Jared says, startled. “Did he tell you?”

“Nah. I guessed. You see, most doms have a way of reading body language. There was something different about the way you were looking at me. And unlike Jensen, I’m more open about what I do.”

“I… can see that.” Jared’s first instinct is to get all defensive on Jensen’s behalf, but he has to remind himself that this man is highly probably’s Jensen’s best friend. He steels himself, and then says, trying not to sound too prickly, “Is there anything you need from me?”

“Nope. Not really. I just wanted to talk to you, alone.” Misha seems thoughtful. “How long have you known Jensen?”

So Misha doesn’t know the details? The realization puts him at ease, marginally, and he’s silently thankful to Jensen for that minor detail. “About a month before I started here. I had no idea he was working here too.”

“A month?” Misha seems surprised.

Jared feels himself go red. “Yeah. I had a session with him.”

“So you’re new. Relatively speaking, of course.”

Jared wishes he could stop flushing. “I guess you can say that. Jensen was – it was the first time I’d tried anything like that,” he says, amending himself halfway as quickly as he can the moment he realized that saying _Jensen was my first_ would imply something else entirely. “He’s helped me a lot.”

He can’t help the fondness in his voice when he mentions Jensen, and it’s kind of embarrassing.

Misha makes a pleased hum. “You’re a good kid. And you’ll be good for him, I’m sure.”

It feels like a compliment, which makes Jared laugh, nervous. “I hope. I still don’t really know what I’m doing sometimes. Right now he’s just. Um. Teaching me stuff.”

Misha leans back in his chair. “Well that’s one thing I can’t help you out on. But what I can do, though – if you ever need anything, anything at all – you can come to me. I’m not encouraging you to go against Jensen’s authority,” he adds, “But if there’s anything else I can help you with – Jensen’s favorite foods, his favorite places to go. His kinks.”

Jared freezes for a moment. He doesn’t know a _thing_ about Jensen, he realizes with an unpleasant jolt, the happy little bubble of warm within him evaporating instantly at the thought. Sure, he knows Jensen, knows what he’s like at work, what he’s like as a master, but that’s about it. It’s not like he’s never thought about it, but for Misha to put it so plainly –

“Sure,” Jared says. He tries to smile, but it feels forced, so he quickly schools his expression back to neutral. “Um.”

Misha raises an eyebrow at him, but lets out a tiny sigh. “You’re a tough one, you’ll be okay. Right then, I’m going to stop terrorizing you and get back to work.” He stands up, claps him on the back on the way out. “See you around, Jared.”

 

 

 

But despite the whirlwind of a day at work, it’s always a relief when he’s finally back again in his room at Jensen’s, preparing himself for their night of play ahead.

He’s allowed exactly ten minutes to get ready, counting down from the minute they walk in. It’s just enough time for a quick shower without washing his hair, and then he’s to return to the living room to kneel in front of the couch, waiting until Jensen calls him in for dinner.

Everything goes on as usual, but tonight Jensen motions for him to join him up on the couch. Confused, Jared obeys, and Jensen slides a tablet into his hands.

“What do you think?”

Jared stares at the screen. It’s a collar, plain black leather with steel buckles and a single D-ring. It’s simple, but _beautiful_. There’s still a few more days to go till the end of what Jensen’s calling his trial period, but if Jensen’s already picking out a collar for him-

“Yes, please,” Jared breathes.

Jensen seems amused. “Are you sure? There are a few other options here, go ahead and swipe through them.”

The next one is black too, but with small diamond-shaped studs all down the length of the leather. Jared slowly goes through them, pauses on a stunning black and red one with a narrow white trim and burnished gold attachments, but in the end he circles back to the very first collar.

“This one,” he says.

“You sure?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Jensen takes the tablet back from him, leans to the side and puts it on the coffee table. He pulls Jared close, brushing away the hair from the back of his neck and stroking down the bared skin. Jared shivers, sensitive.

“I’ll want you wearing it every time we play,” Jensen says. “Damn, Jared, baby,” he stops, kisses Jared on the nape of his neck, “I can’t wait to see you wearing my collar. Mark you as mine, and everyone will know you belong to me.”

“Me too,” Jared whispers. He wants to turn around, wants to kiss Jensen on the lips so badly-

Jensen suddenly pulls away. “You said you can’t make it tomorrow?”

Jared tries not to let his disappointment show too much. “Yeah. My roommate’s coming back, her flight’s arriving tomorrow evening and she needs me to go pick her up from the airport.”

“Want to take things a little harder tonight? To make up for it?”

Jared swallows. “Okay. What should I do?”

Jensen hums, like he’s thinking. Then he says perfectly calmly, “Go bend over the couch. Hands crossed over your chest, legs apart. I’m going to whip you so hard you’re not going to be able to sit for a week.”

 

 

 

Gen’s flight is late.

Jared spends about ten minutes waiting just outside of the arrival lane, fidgeting in his car, before he gives in and drives over to the parking lot. He winces even as he climbs out of the car, stretching as he looks out toward the brightly lit airport.

His ass _hurts_.

He grins ruefully to himself. He feels inexplicably happy, contented despite the soreness that flares to life every time he moves. The walk back to the arrival bay is a short one, and he swings his arms as he goes. There’s a vending machine just by the entrance, and Jared gets himself a coffee and a small pack of chocolate almonds to eat while he waits, finds himself an empty bench in a corner, decides that he doesn’t want to sit after all, and pulls out his phone.

He’s tempted to text Jensen, but he doesn’t. Leaning against the wall, he thumbs aimlessly through his apps until he’s bored, then puts away his phone. Stares blankly at the gray tiled floor, finally sits down, finishes off the last of his chocolates, then takes out his phone again.

“Hey there, handsome.”

Jared nearly jumps out of his seat. Gen waves, letting out a delighted peal of laughter.

“Did you miss me?”

“Goddamnit, Gen,” Jared hisses. “And no I did _not_.”

Gen rolls her eyes at him. “Drama queen. Thanks for coming to pick me up, I know you missed me – did you park outside?”

“Yeah.” Jared stands up, takes over her baggage cart even though she makes a shooing gesture at him. “How was the flight?”

“Ugh. We got held up just before takeoff, there was some problem with the luggage and we had to turn around. I’ll pay for the parking, by the way.”

They stop for dinner on the way home, a small noisy place near their campus. They trade stories as they wait for their orders, updating each other on the latest rumors and gossip in their shared circle of friends, and Jared remembers just in time that he’s supposed to report his meals to Jensen.

Gen’s staring at him when he puts his phone away.

“Who was that?”

“Nobody.”

“Nobody seems to make you very happy,” Gen says. She’s grinning. “Did you meet him at your internship thing?”

Jared sighs. “Before you go on – I just have to let you know that I won’t be around weekdays. We’ll still split rent and bills fifty-fifty, of course.”

Gen’s eyes go wide. “I’m jumping to the obvious conclusion here,” she says. “And there are a _lot_ of conclusions I’m currently jumping to at the moment. Am I allowed to pry?”

“No. Stop pouting, I’m not telling you anything.”

Gen stares at him. Then, because her intuition is creepy and accurate, she says, “You’re serious about this one, aren’t you?”

There’s a stain on the table in front of him. It sort of looks like a horse’s head, Jared thinks. He traces the outline of it with a finger, then says, “Yeah. I hope so.”

Their waiter arrives with their food, and Gen immediately steals a couple of his fries. She pops one into her mouth, waves the other at him like a toast. “In that case, I’m happy for you – stop that, I actually genuinely mean it this time – so here’s to you, and your nobody.”

Jared snorts, and tries to kick her under the table. 

 

 

 

The next few days with Jensen go slowly; Jensen goes back to having him sit by him on the floor, their nights passing by in peaceful silence, only breaking the quiet every now and then to murmur soft words of praise in his ear. And Jared lets himself drift, feeling like he’s falling into that deep place within his own mind where everything is _Jensen_ , comforting and just right. 

So when Jensen suddenly stops him one evening with a light touch to his arm as he’s toeing off his work shoes in the hallway, Jared instantly knows he’s planned something for their evening.

“Take your time getting ready tonight,” Jensen says, and shakes his head when Jared’s just about to ask him why. “When you’re done, kneel in your usual spot. Go on.”

It doesn’t take him long to find out why; when he gets to his room, he sees that there’s a small, plain black cardboard box sitting on his bed. Jared sits down by the edge of the mattress, reaches out to the box and pulls it to himself, and carefully pries open the lid.

Set inside on a dark velvet cushion is an ordinary plug. Shiny steel, heavy, small enough that it fits neatly into his palm. Jared turns it over in his hands, feeling the smooth, cool weight, wondering if it’s a gift. He hopes it is, and his heart seems to speed up in anticipation.

He looks back at the box, even checks under the cushion lining, but there’s nothing else. No note, no instructions that Jensen might have left for him.

There’s only one logical course of action here.

Jared grabs his towel, takes his usual shower, but this time taking care to wash himself the best he can manage. He can hear Jensen moving about in his own room, an occasional thump like he’s busy shifting stuff around, and he swallows dryly as he bends over the bathroom counter, one hand braced against the wall to support himself.

It takes him a while to work himself open, his wrist cramping, and he feels like a sloppy, debauched mess with lube dripping down his balls and thighs. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror; his face is flushed pink all the way down to his neck in exertion and low arousal, cock growing hard and bobbing up near his stomach.

His back is aching by the time he’s managed to work himself up to two fingers, attempting to fuck himself on his hand but growling softly in frustration when the awkward angle seems to provide barely any relief or pleasure at all. Adding a third finger makes him wince at the sharp pain, so he pulls his hand away, wipes off the excess lube on his hip, and picks up the plug.

Suddenly it feels so much heavier, intimidating. Jared closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and brings it down and presses it against himself. Feels himself twitch in mild shock at the cold of the metal against his heated skin.

It doesn’t feel like it might fit at all.  He takes another deep breath, and another, and pushes it in. His hole protests against the intrusion, sting and hot, and he lets out a gasp of pain. He thinks of Jensen, how disappointed Jensen would be if he fails, and presses harder. And then the muscle suddenly gives way, unwillingly stretching around the widest part of the plug, and at last it slides in with a wet pop.

“Fuck.” Jared grips at the counter, panting. It _hurts_ – he should have prepped himself more, he knows. Closes his eyes, rests his forehead against the wall as he wills the burning pain to somehow taper down to a more tolerable level; he doesn’t think he’s quite capable of even _walking_ just yet. He can feel the plug shifting about against his insides, the slim flared base snug between his ass cheeks, an exhilarating mix of pain and pleasure.

He’s already worked himself up into a sweat. Grabbing his damp towel, he wipes at himself the best he can, and then goes out to present himself to his master. Kneeling down is a clumsy affair; with his knees so far apart, it feels like the plug might slip out of him, and he has to clench to keep it in.

Jensen has a strange expression on his face when he finally comes up to him. His hand shoots out to pull Jared up by the hair without warning.

“Show me,” he says.

Jared twists, bends over. He feels Jensen’s finger clinically prodding at him, rubbing at the still-sore rim around the plug, and he can’t help the small cry that escapes his lips.

“What’s the matter? Was it too much for you?”

“No, it hurts, I,” Jared breaks off into a gasp when Jensen sharply jerks at the plug, “I think I wasn’t loosened up enough when I put it in.”

“And why is that?” Jensen sounds dangerous.

Jared senses punishment looming over him in the way Jensen’s looking at him now. That oddly unreadable expression gone, replaced by something ominous, and he both hates and loves how he readily admits to Jensen, “I was too impatient, Sir.”

“I see.” Jensen releases him, walks around him in a circle. “You’ve earned yourself a reward for taking the initiative even though I hadn’t specifically instructed you to put it in,” he says, finally. “But I’m not going to overlook how naïve you can be sometimes. There _will_ be a punishment for this, and also from now on, you will kneel and present your plug to me at the start of every session. And then you will prepare yourself as I watch, until I find you’re mature enough to know not to unnecessarily harm yourself.”

Jared bows his head. The humiliation prickling through him is hot, even if it’s supposed to be a lesson. “Yes, Sir,” he mumbles.

Jensen catches his chin, tilts his face up until their eyes meet. “Remember this, boy,” he says. “You’re mine, your body and mind and soul, and I will not have you hurting yourself. Any pain you feel will come from _me_ , and me alone. If I decide I want you writhing and screaming in pain, I _will_ reduce you to that. But otherwise you’re to take care of yourself the best you can.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jared says again. He thinks he could lose himself in Jensen’s intense gaze, feels a sense of loss when Jensen moves away again.

“Let’s have dinner first,” Jensen says, suddenly gentle again. “Come, Jared, crawl for me.”

Dinner is takeout steak and buttery roasted potatoes. Jensen makes him sit firmly down on his plugged ass, warningly pinches the tender skin between his neck and shoulders when he fidgets in mild discomfort.

“Don’t move, boy,” Jensen says. He holds down a small cube of steak speared on a fork. “Now eat.”

“Thank you,” Jared whispers, and obediently lets Jensen feed him. The meat is tender, slightly cold now but still juicy and full of flavor.

Jensen seems to take longer than usual tonight, feeding Jared little bites of food as he slowly picks through his share, but the pain’s mostly subsided by the end of the meal, which makes Jared think he might be doing it on purpose. And when Jared gets up to do the dishes, the plug sends a small jolt of pleasure through him.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Jared says, as he puts away the last plate. There’s no point in running an entire dishwasher load with just the two of them, but Jared enjoys the menial chore. It’s vaguely domestic somehow, and he secretly loves how Jensen likes to stand around watching him wash up, sometimes casually kneading at his ass when he’s bent over the sink.

“Good. What’s the color?”

“Green,” Jared says. He’s been waiting for this for ages. “So, so green.”

Jensen smiles. “I’m going to get something from my room. You can go kneel in front of the couch and touch yourself, but don’t come until I tell you to.”

Jensen doesn’t emerge from his room until nearly half an hour later, holding a long, slender vibrator, ending in a fat curved tip. Jared makes a small noise of desperation when he finally sees Jensen, sees the toy that Jensen’s definitely going to use on him until he’s a sobbing wreck, and he rips his hand away from his cock, afraid he might come before he’s allowed to.

“Yes, that’s my boy.” Jensen crouches down in front of him, strokes a hand down his bare, sweaty chest. “Don’t come now, not yet. Hand back on your cock. How long more do you think you can hold out?”

“I don’t know,” Jared says weakly. He’s _exhausted_ , muscles all tensed up and bowstring rigid from the effort of edging himself for so long. “Sir, _please_ , I need to come-”

“No,” Jensen says, simply. “On your hands and knees now. Don’t stop touching yourself.”

Jared whines as Jensen easily works the plug out of him, then pushes it back in again. Jensen slowly fucks him with the plug until the warmed steel slips in and out of him with barely any resistance, then holds it so that his hole’s tiredly stretched around the widest part of the plug, keeps it there until Jared whimpers, tries to scramble away because it’s starting to hurt-

Jensen slaps him. “Never fight me,” he hisses. “Whatever I chose to do to you, you’re to shut the fuck up and take it. Now get back here, boy.”

The plug’s tugged out of him one last time, set aside and replaced by the vibrator, already lubed up and ready. It goes in easily, Jensen swiftly finding that sensitive spot within him with unerring accuracy as if he’s memorized Jared’s entire being, every part of him inside and out. The damn thing isn’t even turned on but Jared jerks in shock, a small spurt of precome dribbling out his overstimulated cock.

“Shit. _Please_ ,” Jared says. His hand stills on his cock, but Jensen somehow notices right away.

“Don’t stop, Jared.”

“Please,” Jared says, again. He’s not even sure what he’s begging for anymore.

Jensen bends down over him, an arm on his hips in a bruising grip to hold him still. Fingernails digging sharply into his skin, so hard that it feels he might just draw blood. “I’m going to turn this on,” Jensen says. “Tell me when you think you’re going to come.”

The vibrator starts up, an insistent, intense buzzing right against his prostate. It takes an insane amount of concentration to focus on stroking himself, to will enough strength to his limp fingers, and Jared’s babbling again, sounds of desperation as he feels his climax coming on with the force of a tidal wave. Balls throbbing and drawing up tightly, and it’s a miracle that he has enough presence of mind left to remember Jensen’s orders.

“ _Coming_ ,” he gasps, breathless and raspy.

“Good,” Jensen says quietly; fast as lightning, he wraps a hand around Jared and grabs him by the base of his cock.

Jared howls, keening, as his orgasm is instantly cut off. He bucks wildly against Jensen’s hold on him, but Jensen is unconcerned.

“That was for your impatience when putting in your plug,” he says calmly. “Have I made myself clear, or will you need more reminders of how you’re to behave?”

Jared’s eyelashes are clumped together, wet. He blinks furiously, feels the wetness pool at the corner of his eyes. The vibrator is still on, shoved deeper up his ass now from his brief struggle, handle sticking stiffly out of him. “Yes, yes, please, I swear I’ll be more careful, _please_ - _”_

“Then _come_ ,” Jensen says, _orders_ , like he can command Jared’s body to obey him with just a simple word. And Jared does; he comes so hard that his entire vision goes white, pleasure singing through his nerves and erupting outwards with such force that his limbs go weak.

“Please,” Jared mumbles. “Jensen.”

He turns, finds himself with a faceful of Jensen’s shirt. Jensen smells as good as ever, which is ridiculous because he _shouldn’t_ be so clean while Jared’s covered in sweat on the outside and lube on the _inside_ , and is that a patch of his come on the floor?  

“Jared?” Jensen is smiling down at him, fond and warm, and Jared dazedly registers that Jensen’s somehow pulled him up and into his lap without him realizing it. “You did an amazing job, baby, I’m so proud of you.”

“I did,” Jared says, incoherently. He thinks he spills more gibberish, half-formed words that barely make sense. Tries to pull Jensen closer, curses uncreatively when his hands go slack in the folds of Jensen’s sleeves, too drained to be capable of doing anything correctly.

“Jared,” Jensen says. “Want to go to bed?”

“Yes, bed,” Jared agrees. He wonders if Jensen will sleep with him tonight.

 _Love you_ , he thinks again, and clings to Jensen.

 

 

 

But the next morning, Jared wakes up with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and his heart turned to shards of broken ice. He doesn’t know why, can’t explain it, doesn’t understand why a sense of foreboding envelopes him even as he sits up in bed. He should feel happy, contented the way he always feels every morning when he wakes, eyes slowly opening to the sight of the high, spotless gray-white ceiling of his room in Jensen’s house.

But he doesn’t.

He remembers his intense orgasm, probably one of the best he’s ever had his whole life, remembers Jensen putting him to bed, tucking him in like a sleepy child. He groans, head cradled in his hands, but he can’t think of what would make him feel this way.

Jared jumps out of bed and crosses his room to the door in three wide strides. His vision blurs as he turns the knob – shouldn’t have moved so fast right after waking up – and he leans against the wall until he’s steady enough to stand again.

He finds Jensen in the kitchen, standing over the empty coffee maker. Jensen looks like shit, like he hasn’t slept all night.

“Jensen,” Jared says, hating how unsure he sounds. His mouth is dry and he probably has morning breath, too tired to brush his teeth before falling asleep the night before. He clenches his hands into fists, frustrated. “What-”

“I’m sorry-”

“- I don’t-”

“I don’t think we should go on like this,” Jensen says, and Jared feels the floor crumble away beneath his feet and he’s falling, all over again. “I don’t think we – what we’re doing now – it won’t work out.”

“Jensen,” Jared says. Now he remembers it, bits and pieces coming back to him. Of Jensen’s tight smile, of Jensen’s touch suddenly turning cold and hesitant on his skin.

Of himself, disoriented, whispering, “Love you,” and kissing Jensen right on the lips.

“We don’t fit together,” Jensen says. He’s looking away, refusing to meet Jared’s eyes. “You’ll do better with another dom.”

It’s a while before Jared identifies the emotion rushing through him as rage, terrible and boiling. He wants to smash his fist into something, to feel something splintering under his knuckles. “You goddamn coward,” he snarls, hates how Jensen barely flinches at him. Furious that he’s so _angry_ , he can’t say anything else. “Fuck you, Jensen.”

Jared turns, storms back to his room. His things are scattered all over, but he packs as much as he can into his backpack, stuffs anything else that won’t fit into the back of his car. Gets in, drives and drives until he’s far away enough from Jensen and everything else that reminds him of the master he loved and lost.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, one of my favorite fic tropes.
> 
> Edit: I can't promise regular updates if I maintained my usual word count per chapter, but I COULD update faster if I did shorter chapters (about 1500-ish words?) instead of what I'm currently doing. Sooo. Votes for slower updates with longer chapters, or faster updates with shorter chapters?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for (very brief!) mention of underage sex. This is an unpleasant chapter: tbh I hated writing this. More spoiler-ish warnings at the bottom of the chapter.

Jared’s had crushes, dated before. When he was in second grade: the cute girl who sat next to him in English. The head of the junior cheerleading squad. The youngest son of the Laceys who lived three doors down the road, a boy a couple of years his senior. And as it would be with any pair of teenage boys, their relationship was mostly kisses and hurried handjobs in the school toilets. Stolen moments together, turning the music to as loud as they dared to drown out the sounds as they fucked, but Jared remembers how much he _loved_ him.

It ended abruptly when the Lacey boy moved away for college; they were too young to know how to handle a long distance relationship then. Jared remembers feeling devastated, one last kiss on the cheek, a solemn promise to always keep in touch, love you still, that they both eventually broke.

But nothing he felt back then feels anything like _this_.

Gen is nice enough that she doesn’t bring up the fact that Jared’s around the apartment now when he’s supposed to have moved out, or how fast Jared’s new relationship seems to have derailed – like everything else in his fucking life, really. But two days later their tiny kitchen is suddenly full of his favorite snacks, and he discovers that an entire shelf in the fridge has been cleared out to make way for bottles of beer and marked down vodka.

The memory of the last time he got drunk off his ass is still fresh in his mind, but he appreciates the gesture.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to face going back to work, and briefly considers quitting because there’s no fucking way he can deal with working with Jensen again, pretend that nothing’s wrong.

In the end he decides that he’s more angry than upset, and damned if he’s going to let Jensen ruin the credits he needs for his for semester. It’s childish, laughably immature, pretending that he can somehow get back at Jensen by acting like he doesn’t care – but Jared _doesn’t care_. Prove to him that Jared’s not the weak, pathetic thing Jensen thinks he is.

Because what can hurt him more – a person who gets off on the control – with the realization that Jared doesn’t need him after all.

Gen gives him a disapproving look when she finds that Jared’s barely touched any of the beer in the fridge, so he gives in. They get more booze, enough pizza to feed an entire football team, and Netflix shitty horror movies and laughing disproportionately every time the movie’s monster disembowels someone and splatters the screen with too bright fake blood.

Halfway through their second movie and the third pizza, Jared realizes that Gen had the uncanny foresight to hide his phone so he wouldn’t drunk text, and he’s immensely grateful. Five minutes later, he realizes something that makes his insides go stone cold, and bizarre understanding dawns on him.

He passes out sometime after the third movie, and when he wakes up in the middle of the night sticky-eyed and thirsty and feeling his bladder close to bursting, he doesn’t even remember what his revelation was.

 

 

 

His first day of work after the disastrous fall out with Jensen is strangely uneventful until late in the afternoon, when it all goes to shit.

Jared doesn’t see him all day, but it’s easy enough to distract himself with work. He sips his coffee and absently chews the top of his pen as he works through his spreadsheets, makes a face of disgust at himself when he pauses for a break and sees the bitten plastic. He doesn’t notice the figure standing right over his desk until he hears an awkward cough.

He jumps a little. “Oh hey, Sarah,” he says, and relaxes. It’s one of the junior accountants working on his floor, a serious young woman a few cubicles away from his own. He’s only ever exchanged superficial pleasantries with her, but she’s been nice to him so far, and it’s a welcome relief to have someone to talk to after spending his entire morning working alone in silence.

Sarah gives him a look, then hands over a thin paper file.

“Jensen asked me to give this to you,” she says. She’s still looking at him in an odd way that’s making him uncomfortable, as though she knows what’s been happening between him and their boss. “That’s our monthly inventory records. He says you’re to do our physical inventory check for this quarter. Do you know your way around the storeroom?”

“Oh.” Jared says, his voice flat as he tries not to sound too snappish at the mention of Jensen’s name, then realizes she asked him a question. “And um, yeah, the storeroom’s by the pantry, right?”

“The key’s with our floor security,” Sarah says, nodding briefly. “I’m supposed to guide you through it. Go through our old records to see how we usually do it, get started on as much as you can first, and come to me if you have any questions?”

“Yeah, okay,” Jared says. He forces himself to smile, pretends to leaf through the papers until Sarah walks away. It looks like standard work, nothing too complicated or difficult.

He’s fucking _pissed_. So Jensen’s refusing to even talk to him now, that he has to send someone else to relay the message for him? He slams the file shut, shoves it into one corner of his desk so he doesn’t have to look at it. Sarah never specified if Jensen’s set a deadline for this latest project, so he’s not going to bother finishing it up too quickly.

He’s done with trying to please him.

A few hours later, he’s in the middle of packing away his things for the day when he sees it.

Peeking out from in between the pages of the inventory files is a small slip of brown. Jared’s not sure why it caught his attention when the rest of the papers are in equal disarray, colored receipt slips interspersed with invoices that have been folded and unfolded so many times creases are worn deeply into the paper. Curious, he picks the file up, flips it open, and a plain brown envelope falls out to land on his desk.

His name is neatly written across the front in all capitals, small precise letters in what he quickly recognizes as Jensen’s handwriting.

Foolishly, Jared’s first thought is that Jensen’s left him some sort of a parting letter. A weak non-apology, a flimsy excuse and some shit about how they’re never meant to be for each other. How they should have just remained professional acquaintances. Like a bad cliché, like everything about their failed relationship has been from start to finish.

It’s too heavy, too thick to be just a letter. He carefully tears the seal open, unsure what he’s going to find.

There’s a small stack of bills tucked inside, and he tips it all out, dumbfounded, and quickly counts the crisp notes. It’s a lot of money. His suddenly shaking hands can’t seem to peel the notes apart and he has to count them over a few times to be sure.

He feels his anger rising, thick and boiling and nearly suffocating.

Jared stuffs the money back into the envelope, slams it back down on his desk. He tries not to yell.

The fucking _nerve_ of Jensen.

He’s used to waiting for the rest of the floor to clear out. Most of them are gone on time, but there are always one or two who stay past regular hours. Jensen’s still in his office as usual, but this time Jared doesn’t bother pretending he has any reason to be hanging around still.

He stares at the clock on the wall, watching the slim second hand creep round and round, counting the seconds as though it’s going to help calm himself down.

When he’s finally alone, Jared snatches up the envelope again, strides all the way across to Jensen’s door, and lets himself in without knocking.

Jensen doesn’t seem to be doing anything, but he still looks startled to see Jared. Jared is viciously pleased – and guilty, still heartbroken, _furious_ , an undercurrent of concern – at how terrible Jensen looks. He’s pale, unshaven, a light stubble over his chin and jaws, and fuck if he somehow looks even hotter that way, roughened and scruffy.

Jared grits his teeth, and stalks forward. He feels like he’s about to throw a silly tantrum, and he can’t stop himself.

“What the fuck is this,” he hisses, and tosses the money onto Jensen’s table. “Did you think I’m just some idiot naive kid you could screw around with, push around until you got bored, then pay off so I would go away quietly and leave you alone? Do you get off on being an asshole? Picking up random kids and fucking around with them?”

“Jared,” Jensen says, “Jared, listen to me-”

It sounds like he’s pleading, but Jared is so angry that it just sets him off even more. 

“I’m not a fucking whore,” he says. “Keep your money, I don’t want it.”

Jensen gets up, catches Jared’s wrist. “It’s compensation,” he says, almost urgently, and Jared wants to shake his grip off, but there’s something in Jensen’s eyes that makes him pause. “I made you quit your job and move in with me. I know I can never completely repay you for everything, but it’s the best I can do.”

Jared growls. “So I was right. In other words, I was your whore until you wanted out.”

“I’m worried about you, Jared, baby, listen to me-”

Jensen’s hold on him loosens, and Jared immediately wrenches his hand back. He can’t help it; his hands fly to Jensen’s collar, grabs him.

“Don’t you dare call me that,” Jared says, fuming at the sound of the affectionate pet name, like Jensen still thinks he can get Jared to obey him with that one simple word, like all he has to do is to stroke his hair, murmur sweet honeyed promises and lies into his ear and Jared will come crawling back to him, begging to be used. And Jensen has no right, no responsibility over him now, and he shouldn’t care even if Jared wants to

“ _Jared-_ ”

“Shut up,” Jared says, and then he realizes he has one hand drawn back, clenched into a tight fist, like he was just about to punch Jensen in the face, break his nose the way the fucker deserves it.

He _wants_ to do it.

He doesn’t.

Jared hates himself. Angry at how even after all the shit Jensen put him through, he’s still in love with the goddamn bastard. Furious that Jensen’s trained him so well to _submit_ to him, Jared’s instincts and nerves are screaming that this is all so wrong, that he should be kneeling at his feet instead of fighting him.  

Jensen always loved it when Jared begged, he knows. Reduced to a needy wreck of _please_ ’s and _need you need more_ , holding onto him like Jensen’s his lifeline.

It still hurts, that part of him that so thoroughly loved belonging to Jensen. Rejection. A crushing loneliness that’s already starting to set in at the thought that Jensen will never look at him the same way, all awe and fondness like Jared’s everything to him.

“Just tell me one thing,” Jared says, and he’s trying really hard not to sound like he’s pleading, but he _is_. He doesn’t even know why he wants to know; he’s probably being stupid and reckless again, the way he always is – “Did you ever genuinely care for… for me. For everything we did, the past two weeks?”

He needs to hear Jensen’s answer, to hear Jensen tell him outright that Jensen never felt anything for him. It’ll be closure, the cruel snap back to reality he needs so he can move on and forget everything that’s happened.

But then Jensen says, “I _do_ ,” and his voice is that of a broken man, grainy and rough. “I wouldn’t have offered to take you on if I hadn’t.”

Liar, Jared doesn’t say, because he knows it’s the truth. It’s not the answer Jared wants, but he doesn’t press further. He balls his hands into fists, runs a hand through his hair – it’s on its way to getting ridiculously long now, the ends falling past his ears and into his eyes, but Jensen _liked_ it long – and how _stupid_ it is that even now he can’t get Jensen out of his head no matter how hard he’s been trying.

And for a moment, he’s scared. This is so completely unlike the Jensen he knows, the man who’s supposed to be all confidence and poise and warmth. He lets go, takes an uncertain step back. He wants to lash out, yet wants to step closer, grip Jensen tight and comfort him the way Jensen’s always done for him before.

“Then tell me what went wrong,” he says.

Jensen looks away. For a long time he doesn’t respond, and Jared’s just about to snap that it doesn’t matter, forget he ever said anything, and leave, when Jensen finally says, “I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to be together that way.”

“Okay,” Jared says dully. “I’ll stop bothering you now. I’m sorry.”

He turns around and leaves. He doesn’t take the money with him.

 

 

 

He doesn’t go home. He drives down to town, going from store to store until he finds what he needs. Tight black pants made of a cheap glossy material that clings uncomfortably to his legs when he tries them on, cheap plain boots that are more esthetic than function.

Just one night is all he needs, he thinks. One night to get it out of his system and he’ll be fine again, he thinks. Find someone, _anyone –_ for a night of casual play, an unattached dom who would be willing to hit whip his ass red, fuck him afterward and let him leave in the morning, no strings attached.

He’s not _that_ inexperienced. He knows how it works, how the hook up crowd behaves at parties.

He doesn’t need Jensen; Jared will be perfectly fine on his own without him.

 

 

 

The man is tall, nearly as tall as Jared, dressed in shiny boots and heavy leather and studded cuffs, and Jared suddenly feels ridiculous next to him in his hastily thrown together getup that almost feels like a cheap, slutty Halloween costume now. Jared doesn’t quite catch his name when he introduces himself, the noise of the crowd and music drowning out his voice.

“You can call me Master if we’re going to play,” the man says. He’s not unfriendly, but there’s a glint in his gaze as his eyes rove over Jared’s bare chest. “You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable with it, but it’ll help you get into subspace while we’re playing.”

Jared remembers catching Jensen looking at him like that, once or twice, always when Jensen thinks Jared’s too lost in the scene to pay attention. As though Jensen actually _wanted_ him.

He pushes all thought of Jensen out of his mind, and focuses on the man standing before him. Jared thinks he could be attracted to him if he wanted to. He looks like a typical dominant; muscular and handsome, intense, just a shade of intimidating that feels like he could command anyone to cower and kneel at his feet.

“I’m Jared,” Jared says, instinctively averting his eyes and immediately wishing he hadn’t. He’s trying not to look too vulnerable.

“Well then, Jared.” The man slides into the seat next to him. “May I touch you?”

Jared shivers. “Yes-” he hesitates, feeling his throat go dry and catch on his next word, on the sheer wrongness of it, “Master.”

Master moves closer. “Want to go upstairs?”

Jared tilts his head, lets Master kiss the slope of his neck. A hand wraps around his waist, digging in possessively: a hot contrast from the gentleness of the kiss that sends a conflicting, forbidden thrill through him. It’s starting to get hard to think.

The more expensive, better dungeons are upstairs, Jared knows. They’re also private, individual rooms separate from each other, and he knows it’s not the smartest thing to play with a complete stranger, someone he barely knows like that. The alternative would be the free, common play space set up on the main floor of the club, but he’s sure he’s not ready to have an entire audience watching him humiliated and naked and coming apart at the seams.

Never mind that the first time he let Jensen tie him up, Jared barely knew him either.

But common sense wins, and Jared’s just opening his mouth to respond when he catches sight of a familiar face through the crowd. He thinks his heart nearly stops.

 _Misha_.

“Upstairs,” Jared says in a panic, because his life is a series of stupid decisions. The pounding in his chest feels like an erratic thunder, but somehow he manages to calm down enough to go on, “Upstairs, let’s go upstairs. I have money, we’ll split the rental for the equipment.”

“You’re a bold one, I like you,” Master says, and again Jared thinks of Jensen, how Jensen seemed to like that about him too, hadn’t wanted him reduced to a quiet, docile pet. He’d been afraid of that.

And _fuck_ , Jensen – what if Jensen’s here too, what if Misha’s spotted him and tells Jensen –

“What are you thinking about?” Master says. There’s a steel of disapproval in his voice at Jared’s wandering attention.

“Nothing,” Jared whispers, curses himself for still thinking of the very asshole he’s here to try forget. He closes his eyes, and tenses up slightly when Master bites down lightly on his earlobe. This man is going to be harsh and demanding, he can tell. That’s not a bad thing, he tells himself. It’s exactly what he needs-

Master brings him upstairs, all the while keeping a firm hand on his shoulder like he can sense Jared’s anxiety. Jared turns back to scan the floor as they leave, but Misha’s nowhere to be seen now, lost in the crowd of leather and sweat-shiny naked skin.

They get a room, a small enclosed space with a wooden saltire cross set on a low platform against one wall. It’s dark, almost claustrophobic, four walls trapping him in now with Master. Jared undresses quickly, peeling off his clothes and chucking them aside. He leaves his boots on, not caring how ridiculous he must look.

“Up against the cross,” Master says. Jared hears him pick up a whip, abruptly swinging it with a loud, terrible crack that claws through the air.

He flinches. Grits his teeth, walks stiffly up to the cross and presses himself against it, arms raised up. The heavy, polished wood is cool and unforgiving, and he feels like he’s about to be crucified. Even with the adrenaline-laced anticipation pumping through him, he’s thankful that he doesn’t need to face Master in this position; this way he can pretend that Jensen’s the one whipping him, fucking him.

The cuffs are soft around his wrists and ankles, well-worn from use. Master tightens them until it nearly hurts, and Jared impulsively pulls against his restraints the moment Master steps away. He doesn’t get very far.

“Ready?”

He doesn’t think so.

“Yes, Master,” Jared says, and closes his eyes.

The first lash stripes across the swell of his ass, and he lets out a small grunt of pain. It doesn’t feel anything like the times Jensen whipped him; this is raw and cold, abrading unpleasantness without that familiar thrum of pleasure he’s grown to love.

He struggles; he’s not sure he can endure it like this. Desperate, he tries to will himself to stop thinking, tries to lose himself in the heady rush of sensation like he’s done so many times before with Jensen.

Jared tries hard not to cry.

“Stop,” he mumbles. The whip falls again, cracking over his thighs this time, and his knees buckle, giving way, his wrists straining as he fights to stay upright. He chokes back a sob, realizes that his voice is caught in his throat, lips moving soundlessly.

“No,” he whispers, dry and raspy, then with what feels like an enormous effort, moisture prickling in his eyes, “ _Red_ , stop, I can’t-”

He hears Master rush up to him, words of concern that don’t seem to make any sense, and Jared breaks down completely. He feels useless and pathetic, cheeks burning in shame and defeat, and he’s trembling so much that Master has to hold him still as he tugs the leather cuffs off him, then gently lowers him down.

Jared _thinks_ Master’s calling his name, low and urgent. Feels something rough and heavy envelope him, and he clutches at it before realizing it’s a large, oversized towel.

He stumbles forward. Master’s saying his name again, but he blindly reaches out, feels his fingers brush against the cool metal of a doorknob and he instinctively grips it, leans his weight against the door, twists-

There’s someone already standing there.

Jared’s first half-coherent thought is that _this happened before, once,_ and it must be insanity, the way a helpless laughter threatens to bubble up out of him. There’s no way any of this is even vaguely funny – and then reality comes rushing back to him like a douse of icy water to his center.

He wants to run, but there’s nowhere to hide.

“ _Jared_ ,” Jensen says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for a very brief play scene between Jared and someone else who isn't Jensen. It's short, nothing actually happens and Jared safe words out of it as soon as it begins.
> 
> Edit (added 12/7/2016): If anyone's reading this, the next chapter is taking me ages to write because it's so tricky and I can't seem to get the words to work the way I want them, HELP


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oookay. I have zero excuse for updating this late, and I rewrote this chapter three times (But but but real life just got a little too much in the way and then I decided to go back and edit all my previous chapters because I wrote them when I was still struggling to get science-speak out of my system, because this is a thing that happens to me after spending so many years studying science?) 
> 
> Because honestly my entire fic would end up like 'Jared is currently demonstrating an affection that is apparently going unrequited from Jensen's side of affairs' if I weren't constantly rewriting entire chapters of it.

“I’m sorry,” Jensen says, and Jared really wants Jensen to stop fucking apologizing but right now he can’t find it in him to feel angry, “I’m sorry for everything, believe me, if I could take it all back I would.”

They’re in a back room, a small area just off the main floor with a sign on the door that said _Employees Only_. Jared’s not even surprised that Jensen has employee access here. It’s unremarkable, ordinary, unlike the rest of the club; there’s a corner that doubles as a dressing area and the rest of space is scattered with bags and random personal effects.

It shouldn't be this disconcerting.

Jared’s sitting at the small rickety table in the middle of the room, Jensen pacing up and down like he doesn’t dare to join him. He hasn’t said anything since Jensen somehow pulled a bathrobe out of nowhere and wrapped it around him, then very firmly but gently steered him down here.

He’s not even sure why he’s still letting Jensen act like he still _owns_ him. So he says, his voice thick and scratchy, “What the fuck do you want from me?”

Jensen flinches. “Nothing,” he says. “Did you drive here? And did you bring extra clothes? You should go home and rest, I’ll get someone else to give you a ride home if you don’t feel up to driving back.”

Jared’s car is parked a couple of blocks down the road. His regular clothes are packed in a small duffel in the trunk, along with a spare toothbrush and mouthwash, because he’d anticipated finding someone to go home with. But he doesn’t feel like he’s capable of being coherent enough to tell Jensen all that just yet, so all he says is, “I drove here,” and stops.

“You’re in no condition to drive now. Stay here, I’ll just go get someone to come sit here with you until you feel better,” Jensen says.

“No.”

“What?”

“No,” Jared says again, burying his face in his hands and hating himself even more for admitting it out loud, “I want you to stay with me, please, just… stay with me for a bit.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just fucking sit down, Jensen,” Jared says. He’s suddenly tired and he’s aware he’s probably swearing a little too much he doesn’t care.

Jensen sits. A long moment passes with neither of them saying anything, and the silence between them is heavy and suffocating. It feels like they’re strangers all over again. Jensen smells like rich leather and alcohol and he’s dressed casually, entirely in black. There's a braided silver and black cuff on his left wrist, the only concession to his kinks.

He’s devastatingly attractive, Jared thinks. Jensen has tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, patches of stubble dotting his chin that handsomely accentuates the sharp lines of his jaw. And the way his face scrunches up ever so slightly when he’s unhappy…

“Why do I keep running into you everywhere I go?” Jared says bitterly. He’s furious at himself, a little humiliated that even now he still _needs_ Jensen. It makes him feel pathetic and useless – obviously that was why Jensen never felt anything for him, he’s just a helpless little kid who got too deep, too fast and now he’s bitten off more than he can chew.

Jensen shifts in his chair. “It does seem to happen quite regularly. But I’m not stalking you, I swear.”

Jared snorts at Jensen’s feeble attempt at humor. “That wasn’t funny at all.”

“I know,” Jensen says, then, “That was extremely rash of you. You’re not experienced enough, you can’t just play with any random Dom you meet-”

“Then what was I supposed to have done?”

“I know people,” Jensen says. “I could introduce you around, help you find someone who fits your needs.”

“You know,” Jared says, his anger slowly bubbling to the surface again, “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Jensen surprisingly concedes. “Just… Just promise me you’ll never do that again.”

“What would you do about it?” Jared can’t help it now, the words spilling out of him in a rush, spiteful and sharp. “I don’t owe you anything. Gonna spank me if I disobey? What was it that you promised me you would do – tie me to a chair, strap a vibrator to my cock until I cried? Just in case you haven’t noticed, _Jensen_ , you wanted me out, you got it. I’m staying out of your life, so _you_ do me a favor and stay out of _my_ life.”

“You,” Jensen starts in a snarl, then stops. And suddenly he looks so lost, so goddamn vulnerable and broken and Jared feels his heart ache profoundly at the sight, but the next moment Jensen’s face closes off, going almost expressionless. “You should go home,” he says again, blankly. “Where do you live? I’ll call you a cab.”

“I drove here,” Jared says coldly.

“You’re in no condition to drive now.”

“You don’t know me.” It’s a childish, petulant retort, but Jared wants to lash out. He wonders if Jensen will hit him if Jared provokes him enough. “Just… Go fuck yourself, Jensen.”

“ _Jared_.”

“I’m going back out there,” Jared says, starting to stand up, “Gonna find someone to fuck me just because _you_ won’t.”

“You idiot,” Jensen hisses – there, finally, Jared’s gotten him to snap – and Jensen’s hands are grabbing at his shoulders, hauling him up and away from the table, and it feels so good, so wrong the way it's so easy for Jensen to manhandle him about, “Is this all you wanted, all along? For someone to fuck you?”

Jared hits him.

He just about narrowly misses breaking Jensen’s nose, and Jensen staggers back a step, looking stunned. But he recovers fast, swiftly moving in to seize Jared’s wrist as he draws his fist back again.

“Let go,” Jared pants, trying to wrench himself free and failing, swinging his other hand up but his reflexes are sluggish and Jensen easily catches that too, “Fucking let me go-”

Clumsily he brings his knee up, trying to land a blow against Jensen’s middle and nearly succeeds; Jensen’s forced to release him as he dodges, and Jared stumbles as they break apart.

“Jared,” Jensen’s voice is slow and firm, “You’re not okay, you have to calm down and listen to me.”

“Don’t have to,” Jared says, his words clipped. And Jensen’s just fucking _standing_ there, impenetrable, like a calm, immovable veneer, and it just makes him feel even worse.

It’s all starting to make sense now. Jensen never felt anything for him, and Jared was just so blinded by his infatuation, his awe that someone like Jensen would pay him any attention at all that he missed all the signs.

Jensen never ever demanding anything from him in return. His refusal to fuck him, even when Jared was naked and pliant and _ready_. And through the two weeks they spent together, not once did they ever share a bed; Jensen always insisted on Jared returning to his own room to sleep, even if sometimes he did stay by his side until Jared fell asleep.

He chalked it up to Jensen being _respectful_ , but now he thinks about the few doms who approached him earlier, the way they all looked at him with dark hunger in their eyes and how he felt _wanted_ – he’s not so sure anymore.

Frustrated, he lunges at Jensen – he doesn’t even know what he’s trying to do now, all he knows is that no matter what he does Jensen will never touch him again.

He’s not even surprised when all he manages is a wild punch that glances off Jensen’s collarbone. Jensen winces slightly, then slides aside in a lightning fast movement – Jared has a split second to register Jensen’s hands curling around his elbow, twisting his arm about – and the next moment he finds himself shoved up against the wall, Jensen holding him down with a forearm across his chest.

“That’s it,” Jensen snarls, panting now. He lets out a warning growl when Jared attempts to tug himself free once again, “I’m taking you home before you do something idiotic and get yourself hurt.”

“You can’t do that, you don’t fucking own me.”

“Oh yes I can, and I _will_ ,” Jensen says. “I’m not your Master anymore, but I’m a house dom here and it’s my fucking responsibility to watch out for brats like you who don’t know what the fuck you’re doing,” Jared has never seen Jensen this angry before, pure unmitigated anger and it upsets him more than he’ll ever admit, “And you _will_ listen to me now.”

“I’m going to let go,” Jensen goes on, eyes flashing, “And when I do, you will keep your hands by your side and you will shut the fuck up and follow me, and you’re going to tell me where you live so I can drive you home.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You _will_ ,” Jensen says quietly, “You’re not going to disobey me, Jared. You _will_ go home, and you will go straight to bed and sleep, and you will let me check on you tomorrow morning to make sure you’re okay.”

Jared feels his throat constrict. He’s suddenly aware his heart is thumping so fast his chest feels close to bursting.

He nods, and there are dark finger-shaped marks in a ring around his wrists when Jensen releases his grip on him.

He slowly straightens up. He doesn’t want to go back, doesn’t think he can deal with the sheer _normalcy_ of his tiny apartment right now. Gen will probably be still up, and she’ll take one look at him and demand to know what the fuck Jared got himself into this time, because she’s too clever for her own good and she always knows whenever something’s not right.

“I don’t want to go home,” he says at last. “No, it’s not that,” when he sees the frown on Jensen’s face, “But I don’t think I can… I just. Can’t.”

He’s half-expecting Jensen to question him further, so he’s surprised when Jensen just says, “I’ll take you back to my place, then,” and he should tell him no, really.

Jared exhales.

“Okay.”

 

 

 

They spend the entire ride back in silence.

“Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning,” Jensen says, pauses then adds, “You know where everything is, go ahead and help yourself to anything you need. I’ll be in my room.”

Jared locks the door, strips down to his underwear and falls into bed, and feels a sudden surge of emotion at how he misses Jensen so fucking much that it hurts. Everything feels exactly like how he remembers it to be – the familiar coolness of the sheets against his bare skin, the fluffy, slightly musty pillows. The muted glow of the moonlight casting shadows over the paneled ceiling. 

He rolls over. He can feel a bone deep fatigue settling warm and heavy over his limbs, a tightening in his chest and he doesn’t cry, hasn’t cried out of sheer frustration and despair for a long time, but he thinks he just might, now.

He doesn’t sleep. After what feels like hours, he gets up and gingerly slides out of bed.

There’s a silver of light under Jensen’s door. Jared looks, pulls himself away and goes to the kitchen and stays there for as long as he dares. He gets himself a glass of water and leans against the counters to drink it, but every sip makes him feel like throwing up it all back up.

Jensen’s lights are still on when he finally makes his way back to his room. Jared’s only been in Jensen’s own room a handful of times before – Jensen preferred limiting their play to the rest of the house. He hesitates, then knocks and experimentally gives the door a gentle push.

It swings open.

Jensen’s still awake, sitting on the bed with his back to the door. Jared freezes in the doorway, feeling like a misbehaving child caught red-handed, _apologize_ , damnit, he has to say something and get out of here before he makes things worse, but it feels like he’s been rooted to the spot and his tongue’s a mass of useless muscle in his mouth.

Then Jensen says, “I’m a complete fuck up, aren’t I?”

“You’re not.” Jared closes the door behind him, goes around the bed and sits down next to Jensen, “I was just thinking about it, and I should be the one apologizing now.”

“None of this is your-”

“I was the one who started this, I was the one who made the first move. It was me all along, every single time.” And he’s not even sure why he’s telling Jensen all this but he’s _so_ tired of everything – of being angry, of fighting, of waiting, “I was selfish. You were just being _nice,_ but I just kept pushing and pushing until you gave in and let me have my way. I shouldn’t have done any of the things I did.”

“No. I should have known better.” Jensen doesn’t look at him. “When Misha asked me if I wanted to help with the intern program… I saw your name, your resume, and right away I knew it was you. I should have said no.”

“You’re good with what you do, you know.” Jared stares down at his feet and flexes his toes. “I learnt loads from you. No one else would have let me do half the things you assigned to me. The other temp interns are stuck with running errands, writing imaginary proposals and planning imaginary events, the occasional data entry if they’re lucky, but you even let me sit with you in meetings.”

“That’s because I’m senior management,” Jensen says, “ _I’m_ the one who makes the decisions.”

“But still you didn’t need to do all that.” And it’s ridiculous now how they’re fighting over who gets the bulk of the blame now, but it really doesn’t matter now. Jared just wants it all to be over, to end it amicably and he doesn’t want to be one of those pathetic losers who keep hanging on even after a breakup.

“You know, I’ve worked with so many subs.” Jensen doesn’t seem to be listening to him, so Jared falls silent and lets him talk. “And everyone has different needs, different kinks – what might work with a particular sub might be a complete turn off for another even if they share the same kinks – so I can never remember them all. But you… You left quite an impression.”

“Because I was new?”

“No. You weren’t the first curious kid who approached me, but you were different, somehow.” A small quirk of his lips, “An inexperienced dom might have labeled you a brat.”

“What am I, then?” They’re only sitting inches apart, Jared careful not to sit too close, but right now he just wants to lean in and _touch_. Like a puppy starved for affection, he thinks wryly.

“Bright. Bold. Headstrong. You know exactly what you want and you don’t give up until you get it.” Jensen turns to look at him now, smiling slightly. “And reckless. You don’t stop to consider the consequences until it’s too late.”

“I don’t,” Jared says, then sighs. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Unlike other dominants, I’ve never found the idea of owning a person appealing. Blind, complete submission. I find it feels like playing with an empty, mindless vessel.”

“You prefer something with more mutual interaction.”

Jensen’s hand comes up as though reaching for his shoulder, then stiffens in mid-air and falls back down again – Jared pretends not to notice the aborted gesture – “Exactly. I like having subs who can think for themselves. There’s no satisfaction in getting someone to submit if that’s all they know how to do.”

“Because you find it too aggressive,” Jared says, at last. “You’re gentle. You prefer _guiding_ over outright domination. You always liked it when I initiated stuff.”

And that’s when it dawns on him, like broken puzzle pieces suddenly coming together and Jared feels like shit for not realizing it earlier. “The week we had branch audits at work. You were so tired all the time, and you told me you had a bad weekend, but what actually happened was that you had a difficult session with a sub. Whatever it was you had to do, you hated it.”

God, he was so fucking _selfish._ He should have paid more attention, he should have – so many things he should have done instead.

“They needed it, and I couldn’t say no,” Jensen says, his voice flat and almost mechanical. His eyes are blank, and it's worrying. “But I had you then, and I didn’t think it would affect me so much. I guess I was wrong.”

Jensen doesn’t elaborate further. But it doesn’t matter, Jared thinks again; this is the most Jensen’s ever opened up to him, a side of Jensen he’s never seen before. 

It’s outright heartbreaking.

And he thinks he understands it now. The urge and desire to care for someone else so strong that it doesn’t matter if it tears him apart in the process.

“Just so you know, I’m still pissed,” Jared says. “But…" More words pass through his head, but he decides to leave them all unsaid, "I understand. I’ll like it if we could still be friends.”

They could end it all now. Everything they shared, anything that might have happened between them – he doesn’t want to call it a _fling_ , but it wasn’t a relationship either. But whatever it was – he doesn’t want it ending on bad terms.

“If we’d met under different circumstances,” Jensen says, then trails off. He stands up, looks away. “I miss you.”

“Me too.” Jared shakes his head. And it’s conflicting with what he _wants_ to feel, but he says, “I don’t regret any of it. If I had to do it all over again. I mean… Fuck, you could ask me out now and I would still say yes.”

Jensen makes a derisive sound like a forced laugh. His shoulders are a tense line and he looks like he’s just barely hanging on to himself. “Right. I don’t think I have the right to ask you for anything, anymore. Even if I did, I don’t see why you would agree. That would be-”

“Stupid, yes. You said it yourself.” _Stubborn and daring,_ says Jensen’s voice in his head, and Jared shoots him a crooked grin, “I’m reckless and I don’t think, and I don’t give up.”

Jensen gives him a look of half-amused exasperation, but he sighs almost fondly. It’s as though Jared’s caught him off guard, a stark reminder of the easy camaraderie they used to share. “But I do like that about you. Never change, Jared.”

“You know I wouldn’t. Hey you know what – I think I should get back to bed now.”

“Yeah. You probably should.”

It doesn’t hurt anymore as Jared walks back over to the door. It’s strange. He doesn’t know if he’s simply grown used to the pain or if he’s just made peace with the mess of the past few days, but now he thinks maybe he’ll live through this.

“Goodnight, Jensen,” he says.


End file.
